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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221257">Little Black Bird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/With_the_Wolves/pseuds/With_the_Wolves'>With_the_Wolves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Extremely Dubious Consent, Jonah Magnus is a Sorcerer, Jonah Magnus is a bastard, Kiss-Averse Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, M/M, Martin Blackwood is a Baker, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, animals getting turned into people, kiss-averse character gets kissed (and it sucks), listen guys jon has a very bad time in this fic, make friends with birds by throwing bread at them: the fanfic, people getting turned into animals, sex-repulsed character has sex (and it sucks), the inherent romanticism of cheating on your terrible husband</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:20:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,635</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/With_the_Wolves/pseuds/With_the_Wolves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jon didn’t know if his marriage was abusive or not. It didn’t matter, though, because he wasn’t trapped. He could leave if he wanted. </p><p>But leaving would be giving up Jonah’s gift, and Jon wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. He still had nightmares of teeth and claws and blood, not-quite faded memories of his life before. Jonah had saved him from that, and it was a gift worth the tears and bruises and fear.</p><p>Jon’s relationship with Jonah was a delicate balance. If Jonah pushed too hard, Jon would leave. If Jon pushed too hard, Jonah would cast him out. The threat of their arrangement coming to an end was enough to keep them both in line."</p><p>Jon is stuck with a jealous, cruel sorcerer husband. And then a baker moves into town.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>379</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Little Black Bird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The new shop was small, but it had large windows that let in plenty of light, and the wooden paneling on the walls was bright and cheerful. It was also empty, save for a few unopened boxes and crates. Jon had expected the shop to smell like bread, but it didn’t smell like anything. It was a non-place, a domain of in-betweenness, and it unsettled Jon. He’d never been in a non-place before.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what to do, so he began to wander, idly poking at the boxes. Part of him regretted coming in here, but it was tempered by the part of him that craved fresh bread, prepared by skillful hands. There had never been a baker in town, before.</p><p>Jon knew how to make his own bread, of course, but the kitchens in Jonah’s tower were always full of falcons who were never content to leave Jon alone. They liked to entertain themselves by pushing and jostling him, laughing when he flinched away from them. He shouldn’t have been afraid of them, but even when they wore human forms, they were still creatures of ripping and rending, sharp beaks and talons only hidden under the veneer of humanity.</p><p>Jon’s bread always came out too dry, anyway. It was hardly worth the trouble.</p><p>But now—a baker.</p><p>Jon jumped and turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. “Can I help you?”</p><p>The speaker was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach up to his eyes. His voice was gentle, but confused. Or—annoyed, maybe. Oh no.</p><p>Jon pulled his cloak tighter around him, running a calming hand over its soft feathered surface. The man’s face was round and friendly and freckled, but he was also tall, so Jon made himself stretch to his full height. “Are you the baker?” he asked, keeping his spine straight and tall, even as he desperately wanted to shrink into himself, hide away from this man who he’d already managed to annoy.</p><p>Jonah wouldn’t hide, Jon reminded himself. And it was a lot less painful to be Jonah than to be Jon.</p><p>The man laughed, a little uncertainly. “I suppose so. But—Uh—I’m sorry, but I’m not open yet. I literally just got here today, so I’m still unpacking.”</p><p>Of course. You couldn’t move to a new town and immediately make bread. You had to take care of all the things you brought with you, first. The things you carried from place to place.</p><p>It was such an obvious thing, but it had never once occurred to Jon.</p><p>“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry, I—” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d made such a fool of himself already, just because he was too excited about the prospect of having a baker in town.</p><p>The man was still looking at him, probably wanting nothing more than to get back to unpacking his boxes. Jon felt himself shrinking away from him, into the safe warmth of his cloak, and all at once he couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, he turned around and left.</p><p>***</p><p>Moving to a new town was never an entirely painless process, but all things considered, it went well. A few people stopped in to introduce themselves during Martin’s first days in his new home, and his first day of business went as well as he could have hoped. </p><p>He was even making friends--as he was closing up shop on that first day, Tim and Sasha, co-owners of the local pub, invited him to have a celebratory drink with them.</p><p>“It’s just good business practice,” Sasha said, deftly setting three mugs of ale on the table without spilling a drop. “We get you in here and learn all about you, and then everyone else in town comes to see us to hear the gossip.”</p><p>Martin felt his face go red at that. “Is it—do people gossip a lot around here?”</p><p>“It’s not like there’s anything better to do,” Tim said dryly.</p><p>“Even though nothing ever happens around here,” Sasha continued. “Brace yourself—you’re the most novel thing in this town since Jon arrived, and we’ve been talking about Jon nonstop for three years now.”</p><p>“Four,” Tim corrected. “It was the same year the prince passed through with his hunting party, remember? Everyone joked about how Magnus <em> just </em>missed the opportunity to have the prince at his wedding.”</p><p>Martin tried to keep a polite expression on his face, but he knew he mostly just looked confused.</p><p>“Magnus is a sorcerer who lives in that big tower on the edge of town,” Tim explained. “He’s a huge prick, but he usually keeps to himself, so you won’t have to deal with him much.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s…good?”</p><p>“Jon is his husband,” Tim continued. He paused a moment. “Also a bit of a prick.”</p><p>“Tim!” Sasha elbowed him. She looked at Martin seriously. “Jon is a bit…odd, but we care about him, and we do our best to care <em> for </em>him. Most people in town do, actually. Lord knows he needs it.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Sasha sighed and looked at Tim. Tim shrugged. “It’s nothing any of us have any real proof of. Just that Jonah Magnus is an arrogant bastard with a violent temper, and Jon always kind of looks like he expects you to hurt him.”</p><p>“…Oh,” Martin said, stomach twisting. He’d never liked gossip, and this was much darker than the typical who-said-what-about-who drama he was used to overhearing from his mother’s conversations with her friends.</p><p>“Keep an eye out for him,” Sasha said. “He’s a tiny thing. Dark skin, long hair, deep black eyes.”</p><p>Oh god. “Does he—wear a cloak made of feathers?” Martin asked, already bracing himself.</p><p>“You’ve met him?” Tim said, sounding delighted. “How did that go?”</p><p>“Awful?” Martin winced, telling them about the odd encounter of his first day in town.</p><p>Tim laughed. “Classic.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Sasha groaned. “I’m the one who told him what day you were coming. He was <em> so </em> excited when I told him we’d have a baker in town.”</p><p>“I haven’t seen him since,” Martin said. “I feel bad; I didn’t mean to scare him away.”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Tim said. “He’ll come back eventually. He just needs a little time to get over his embarrassment. Jon doesn’t make a good first impression on anyone, so it’s hardly your fault.”</p><p>“Not true!” Sasha said. “Once the Duke of Westonshire came through here one night while Jon was singing—Jon’s a great singer; it’s amazing—and he was so impressed that he offered to buy Jon’s drinks for the whole night if Jon would do one more song.”</p><p>“Yeah, but then Jon poured his drink over the man’s head, and then stormed out, and we were stuck doing damage control for the rest of the night.”</p><p>Sasha laughed. “Well, if anything, that was the second impression.”</p><p>***</p><p>It took two weeks before Jon showed up in the shop again, and seeing him made Martin’s heart twist in a way that it hadn’t under the stress of that first day. He was just so—small. Delicate, perhaps, was the word for it.</p><p>And he <em> did </em>look like he expected to be attacked at any moment. It was in the guarded way he held himself, the way his eyes were never quite as still as they should have been. He looked tired, too, a weariness hanging about him like a fog.</p><p>Looking at him, Martin felt a surge of protectiveness. Which was absurd. Martin knew it was absurd. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know anything about him or his husband. Who was he to decide to protect him?</p><p>Nevertheless, when Jon asked for three loaves of sourdough, Martin chose the very best loaves for him. When he came in again the next day, Martin did the same thing. Again and again, every morning for a dozen mornings, until one day Jon’s face twisted as Martin handed him his now-full basket.</p><p>“Stop looking at me like I’m a tragedy,” Jon snapped. “I neither need nor want your pity.”</p><p>“Oh, um. Sorry,” Martin said, unsure how else to respond to the unbridled hostility in Jon’s face.</p><p>Jon just shook his head and just wordlessly placed a few coins on the counter before taking his basket and leaving.</p><p>It was the first real conversation they’d had.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon hadn’t meant to snap at the baker.</p><p>He wasn’t stupid. He knew about sideways glances and sudden silences when he walked into a room. He knew that people talked, about him, about Jonah. In low voices that he wasn’t meant to hear, they whispered to each other about “signs of abuse.” Tim and Sasha offered him one of the spare rooms they usually rented out to guests, if he ever happened to need it, in voices pitched low with gentle concern. And the baker, who had barely been in town a week, looked at him with barely-restrained pity in his eyes.</p><p>But Jon didn’t want to be a pathetic-small creature, broadcasting his helplessness to everyone he met. He wanted to be the sort of creature that was never hurt, that no one else would ever think of hurting for fear of sharp teeth, sharp claws.</p><p>All Jon had was sharp words, and he hated the way the baker’s soft smile had died when Jon spoke. The baker had been nothing but kind to him, and Jon had been mean for no reason except that the baker thought Jon might be trapped in an abusive marriage.</p><p>Jon didn’t know if his marriage was abusive or not. It didn’t matter, though, because he <em> wasn’t </em>trapped. He could leave if he wanted. </p><p>But leaving would be giving up Jonah’s gift, and Jon wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. He still had nightmares of teeth and claws and blood, not-quite faded memories of his life before. Jonah had saved him from that, and it was a gift worth the tears and bruises and fear.</p><p>Jon’s relationship with Jonah was a delicate balance. If Jonah pushed too hard, Jon would leave. If Jon pushed too hard, Jonah would cast him out. The threat of their arrangement coming to an end was enough to keep them both in line.</p><p>The baker had no way to know about any of that. He was kind, Jon thought, and he worried about other people. He worried about Jon, enough so that even when Jon couldn’t make it into the shop until late morning, there would always be a few beautifully-shaped loaves set aside from the picked-over selection. His pity was misguided, but Jon didn’t want to lose that care.</p><p>It felt nice, knowing that the baker thought about him.</p><p>***</p><p>For the next few days, Martin tried to keep his face blank whenever Jon came into the bakery. Their transactions were much more silent than usual. Martin still saved the best loaves for Jon.</p><p>After five days of this, Jon placed his normal payment on the counter, and along with it a folded sheet of paper.</p><p>Martin assumed it was a mistake. “Jon,” he called. “You forgot this.” There was no way Jon didn’t hear him—the bakery was small and there were no other customers, so it was silent as well. But Jon didn’t acknowledge his voice as he walked out the door.</p><p>Martin picked up the paper, and was surprised to find on one side written, <em> To the baker </em></p><p>Curious, he unfolded it.</p><p>
  <em> Hello, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In sitting down to write this letter, I realized that I still haven’t learned your name. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t bother me, except that you have gone to the trouble of learning my name, and it’s only reasonable that you would expect the same of me. Apologies for that. I’m not the best at being “social.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> More pertinently, I am writing this letter to apologize for my harsh words to you last week. I wasn’t quite myself that day. I understand that rumors circulate in this town about Jonah Magnus, and I don’t blame you for being concerned for my well-being. I don’t quite understand why you would extend such kindness to a complete stranger, but I can’t say that I don’t appreciate it. In complete honesty, your chatter every morning is something I’ve come to look forward to, and I’ve missed it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (This does not mean that I want your pity, however. You can keep that. I assure you, I am fine.) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jon </em>
</p><p>Martin couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from quirking up into a small smile. Martin knew plenty of people who would be offended at Jon for simply dropping off a letter and scurrying away, rather than giving his apology in person. But the letter was just so <em> Jon </em>, from the awkward politeness to the stilted, formal language. Martin leaned against the counter, reading the letter again.</p><p>That was when Martin fell in love.</p><p>***</p><p>When Jon came in the next day, Martin smiled and greeted him. “Hi, Jon!”</p><p>Jon stiffened. “Hello,” he said, hesitating by the door, as if he was unsure whether he’d be welcome or not.</p><p>“Same order as usual?” Martin asked, keeping his voice calm.</p><p>It worked. Jon relaxed a little and walked further into the shop, placing his basket on the counter. “Yes,” he said.</p><p>“Great!” Martin took the basket and collected a few loaves from the cooling shelves. “How are you today?” he asked.</p><p>“Fine,” Jon said. “I, um—hm.” Color was rapidly rising to Jon’s cheeks, and he ducked his head, pointedly not looking at Martin. “Did you—” he stopped again, his shoulders starting to get tense. Martin felt a rush of affection rise in his chest, and with it the familiar instinct to protect this ridiculous man.</p><p>“I read it,” he said, sparing Jon the mortifying ordeal of asking. “Apology accepted. My name is Martin, by the way.”</p><p>“I…see.” Jon was blushing even harder now. Martin would have felt bad for saying anything, if Jon didn’t look so adorable when he was this flustered. Really, it was a good thing Jon wasn’t looking at Martin, or else he’d see the ridiculously fond smile on his face.</p><p>Jon wordlessly counted out the appropriate amount of coins and placed them on the counter. Martin handed him back his basket, along with a small slip of paper he’d folded in half.</p><p>Martin expected Jon to say something about the paper, but Jon just met Martin’s eyes for a quick moment, and then Jon was gone, fleeing the shop. Martin watched him go, that dumb smile still on his face.</p><p><em> Dear Jon, </em> he’d written.</p><p>
  <em> Thanks for the apology. Honestly, though, you weren’t too far out of line. No one likes being pitied, and I’m sorry for making you feel that way. And I’m sorry you have to deal with rumors about your husband. That can’t be fun to deal with. Sasha and Tim told me that since I’m new here, I’ll become the new focus of the gossip, so maybe that will take some attention away from you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I do enjoy seeing you around the shop, and it’s good to hear that my chatter isn’t too annoying! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The baker (Martin) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (P.S. I put a honey roll in the basket for you. They’re one of my favorites, so I hope you enjoy it!) </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>The honey roll was the kind of delicacy worthy of treasuring. Jon sat, slowly tearing pieces off of it, watching the flock of crows tearing their own pieces from the sourdough. The honey roll was soft and sweet, and melted in his mouth.</p><p>He could buy one of these every day, Jon realized. He didn’t need to savor each bite as if it was the last time he’d ever have something like this. Jonah’s purse would buy him any delicacy he wanted, now that there was a baker in town. </p><p>Still, this one was special.</p><p>The crow with a crooked beak, one of the boldest in the flock, hopped over to Jon, eyeing the roll in his hand.</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “This is mine.”</p><p>The bird hopped closer, ignoring his words, climbing onto Jon’s lap.</p><p>Jon held the roll out of its reach. “I’m not sharing. It was a gift.” The Forest Tongue felt strange coming out of his mouth, with how rarely he practiced it these days.</p><p>The bird looked at him with black beady eyes and clucked disapprovingly. “Such treats are much rarer for us than they are for you.”</p><p>“I know, but—” Jon let out a sigh. “I promise I’ll bring more tomorrow, okay?”</p><p>“And if I pass on before then?” The bird’s voice was bright with humor, but it did nothing to assuage the guilt Jon felt.</p><p>“Fine,” Jon said, tearing a small piece from the roll and passing it to the bird. “Don’t tell any of the others.”</p><p>***</p><p>The next week, Jon brought a bundle of herbs, which he placed on the counter along with his coins.</p><p>“What’s this?” Martin asked, before handing Jon’s basket across the counter. Jon had that familiar flush in his cheeks that meant he was ready to flee, but Martin hoped he would wait at least a minute or two before scurrying away.</p><p>“Tea,” Jon said. “You can use them for—I just, I noticed you always had a kettle on, and I was gathering a bunch of herbs anyway, so—”</p><p>“Thank you, Jon,” Martin said with a smile.</p><p>Jon just nodded, not quite meeting Martin’s eyes. He looked like there was nothing he wanted more than to escape, but he wasn’t making a move for the door yet. Martin took that as a good sign.</p><p>“Do you go out gathering often?” Martin asked. He often wondered what Jon did all day, when he wasn’t buying Martin’s bread. Jon didn’t have a job in town, as far as Martin knew. What did he do with those long hours of free time?</p><p>Jon nodded. “Jonah sends me to fetch things. Ingredients for potions. That kind of thing.”</p><p>“And bread?” Martin said with a smile, his voice light, joking.</p><p>But Jon just looked startled. “What?” Then his thoughts seemed to catch up with his instincts, and he nodded. “Oh, I see. No.” He ran a hand over his shoulder, feeling its feathered texture. The movement was familiar to Martin by then. He still looked tense, though, and Martin felt guilty, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done. “The bread is just…for me. Jonah doesn’t really...eat.”</p><p>“Oh…kay,” Martin said. Martin was fairly certain that Jon bought enough bread every day to feed three or four people. He was eating it all himself? Every day?</p><p>At the look on his face, Jon laughed. It was small, but lovely, and this was the first time Martin had seen Jon smile, and it turns out that he <em> could </em>get more beautiful. Martin let out a quiet little sigh. This man was going to kill him.</p><p>“I feed most of it to the birds,” Jon said. “When I go out gathering. I like to sit with them and watch them while I eat. At this point, most of them know me, and they’ll kind of flock around me when they see me coming.” He smiles, a little bit, lost in thought. “They were really jealous of the honey roll.”</p><p>Martin is going to die. Jon is too cute. He’s simply going to die. “That sounds—”</p><p>“I know it’s embarrassing,” Jon interrupts.</p><p>“No—”</p><p>“I just…don’t have many other friends,” Jon said.</p><p>“You have me,” Martin said, before he can think about it.</p><p>From the way Jon froze, he instantly regrets the words. Jon looks like he’s been struck. God, why was he so stupid? He wasn’t friends with Jon! He was just the baker that Jon was forced to interact with every day.</p><p>Jon’s fingers ran over the cloak again, and then there was a tiny shy smile. “I guess I do,” he said.</p><p>***</p><p>Being friends with birds was easy. Jon knew how to be friends with birds. He didn’t know how to be friends with humans. The only human he regularly interacted with was Jonah, and that—Jon stopped the thought. Unhelpful.</p><p>There was Sasha and Tim, but they’d never said they were Jon’s friends. Were they? They were nice to Jon, most of the time, but Jon never did anything for them. He used to sing for them, sometimes, but that changed after he’d poured a drink over one of their customer’s heads. The man had been wearing a belt of bird tails, black feathers with silverwhite spots that matched the pattern of Jon’s cloak. He’d complimented it, commented on how much skill it took to find and trap enough starlings to make such a garment.</p><p>Jon felt his reaction was justified, but Sasha and Tim hadn’t been happy with him.</p><p><em> Martin would have understood </em>, Jon thought, and the thought made him blush. Martin had said he was Jon’s friend, and that was absolutely terrifying. Jon was going to ruin it. He could feel it.</p><p>Martin had forgiven him for being rude to him. Martin had given him a honey roll. Martin had laughed when Jon had bought eight more this morning, but he’d looked so happy that Jon had liked it. And he’d smiled so brightly at Jon’s return gift.</p><p>Maybe Martin <em> would </em>understand. Maybe.</p><p>Jon was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost passed up the door to the bird room, and he tripped over himself getting through the door. Luckily, no one was inside, other than Jonah’s colony of messenger birds, blobs of gray and white perched in their cage.</p><p>Jonah didn’t like Jon to feed the messenger birds. Jon did it anyway.</p><p>When he was younger, years ago, when everything was pain and confusion, the messenger birds had been one of his biggest sources of comfort. They didn’t speak the Forest Tongue, but back then Jon could still understand them well enough. They recognized him as one of their own, and they recognized his grief. They perched on his shoulders and picked at his hair, preening him the way his own family might have.</p><p>Jonah hadn’t been happy with that, but he hadn’t commented on it. Not back then.</p><p>After four years, all of those original birds were gone. Jon couldn’t speak to them anymore, but they knew him as a friend nonetheless.</p><p>As Jon approached, the little gray birds fluttered to him, chirping their greetings. He reached a finger through the bars and scritched at each of them in turn. There were seven. Three days before, there had been eight.</p><p>It was the dappled one who was missing. She’d taken ill weeks before, a harsh disease that made her feathers patchy and dull. But she’d been getting better.</p><p>Jon’s stomach twisted with grief as he realized that Jonah must have visited recently. He didn’t have patience for such things, and he didn’t tolerate eyesores. Jon should have taken full responsibility for her, taken her up to his room, taken care of her until she was good as new. Jonah wouldn’t have liked it, but he would have allowed it. Why had Jon assumed she would be safe here?</p><p>More somber, Jon pulled a loaf of bread from the basket at his feet and tore it into chunks. The birds snapped it up. It was a delicacy, a dessert. Jonah viewed them as tools and treated them as such. But they were Jon’s friends, and no amount of Jonah’s displeasure would prevent him from doing what little he could for them.</p><p>They hadn’t quite finished the loaf when they startled, the flightiest of them fluttering around the little cage in a panic, the more resolute ones simply chirping their fear. A moment later, Jon felt the weight of Jonah’s gaze fall on him.</p><p>He breathed out slowly and continued tearing up the piece of bread and offering it to the little birds. He spoke to them softly, in the forest tongue. They didn’t understand, but his voice calmed them, and they gradually began to settle down.</p><p>After a few moments, Jonah’s gaze left him, and Jon let out a slow, shaky breath. His knees felt weak, and he slowly lowered himself to the ground, focusing on breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale. No need to panic. No need to panic.</p><p>Jon wanted more time to collect himself, but Jonah was expecting Jon to come see him. If Jon took too long, Jonah would look for him again, and the consequences of that would be unpleasant. Jon pulled himself to his feet, murmuring a goodbye to the little birds. Then he straightened his shoulders and went to find his husband.</p><p>***</p><p>After Jon’s gift, Martin took to sharing a cup of tea with him every morning, which Jon would sip quietly while Martin filled up his basket and chattered on about the shop, or the weather, or the gossip around town. Jon would stay in the shop for a long time after his transaction was over, talking to Martin, or just floating around the shop while Martin busied himself with the daily chores. He always fled as soon as anyone else entered.</p><p>Martin enjoyed their quiet, undemanding companionship, and every day he fell a little deeper in love. But Jon was married, to a powerful sorcerer, no less. And Martin had no illusions about the likelihood of their relationship becoming anything more than a casual friendship.</p><p>He tried not to participate in the gossip around town. It seemed Sasha and Tim always had a new, horrible story about Jonah Magnus, and Martin couldn’t help but worry. </p><p>One day, when Martin couldn’t stand it anymore, he asked Jon about it directly, summoning the courage all at once one morning. “You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but--are you okay, Jon?”</p><p>Jon blinked, looking over from where he was perched on Martin’s windowsill, a half-eaten muffin clutched between his hands. “Yes? This muffin is very good, I don’t know why you called this a ‘failed experiment.’”</p><p>“I don’t mean the muffin,” Martin said, smiling a little. Jon was <em> not </em>a baked-goods critic, and based on Tim and Sasha’s reactions, as well as the opinions of his own taste buds, ‘failed experiment’ was definitely the best description of the batch. Martin shook his head, returning to the matter at hand. “I wanted to ask about--your husband. Is everything okay--with him?”</p><p>Jon had gone still, staring at Martin with a blank expression that Martin by now knew masked quick, racing thought. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I, uh--I thought I already told you it was fine.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Martin said quickly, backtracking. “You did. But I hear things, and--Never mind. I shouldn’t be paying attention to idle gossip. I--forget I asked.”</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “I know the kinds of things people say, and I don’t want--I don’t want you to think I’m a helpless victim.”</p><p>“Jon, I would never--I don’t think that of you.”</p><p>The corner of Jon’s mouth twitched up, and he tilted his head, glancing out the window. “My marriage isn’t very...typical. Because Jonah’s a sorcerer, and I’m--anyway. We have an agreement that we’re both happy with.” Jon paused, taking another bite of the muffin. Knowing how it tasted, Martin winced, but Jon showed no signs of distress. He swallowed, and continued, “I think people can tell that things aren’t quite normal between us, and that causes worry. But I’m fine.”</p><p>“Oh,” Martin said, turning over the story in his head. He was relieved to hear Jon say that he was fine. “I’m sorry there are all these rumors that Jonah is some kind of monster. I’m sure I wouldn’t be happy if people thought that about someone <em> I </em> love.”</p><p>Jon froze, looking at Martin with furrowed eyebrows. “Who says I love Jonah?”</p><p>Martin opened his mouth, staring at Jon. “What? You’re married to him!”</p><p>Jon laughed. “Is that a requirement?”</p><p>Martin just opened his mouth again, not sure what to say, and Jon leaned against the window, resting his forehead against the windowpane.</p><p>“Jonah saved my life,” Jon said, his voice a little distant. “A long time ago. And I--I don’t know. I know Jonah loves me, as much as he can love anything. He’s powerful, and the safety he provides is very appealing. So.” A shrug. “We’re married.”</p><p>It was a conversation that Martin turned over in his head, over and over again, worrying at it day after day. It was reassuring, hearing Jon’s explanation for the rumors, and it was more reassuring hearing Jon laugh while talking about Jonah.</p><p>It was also a problem because Martin’s crush was getting deeper by the day, and once he could keep it under control by reminding himself that Jon was <em> married </em>. It was like dunking his head in cold water, disillusioning himself of whatever fantasies he might invent. But now he knew that Jon didn’t love his husband, and suddenly the cold water had become fuel for even more fantasies.</p><p>Martin was thinking about it while locking up the shop one day, just as the sun was starting to set, when he saw Jon passing through town, carrying his familiar little basket and walking steadily towards the forest. By this time, the forest was more shadow than light, and Martin watched Jon with concern. He couldn’t be planning to go in there, could he?</p><p>Martin waved. “Jon!”</p><p>Jon looked up, startled, and Martin blushed, realizing he’d broken Jon out of some deep reverie. Well, nothing for it now. Jon looked confused, and maybe a bit annoyed as he said, “Yes?”</p><p>Martin stepped down from the shop and approached Jon. His basket was empty. “What are you doing?” he asked.</p><p>Jon blinked. “I’m—going to the forest,” he said. As if that was a perfectly normal thing to be doing at sunset.</p><p>“You can’t go into the forest after dark,” Martin said. “There’s wolves, or something. You might get eaten.”</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes. “There aren’t any wolves in the forest, Martin.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean it’s not a dangerous place to go at night!”</p><p>Jon looked at Martin, and there was fire in his eyes. “I’m well aware of the danger, Martin. I don’t <em> actually </em>have a choice, so if you’d be so kind as to leave me be—”</p><p>“What do you mean, you don’t have a choice?” Martin asked.</p><p>“Jonah has sent me to fetch nightroot, which is a type of luminescent plant that can only be harvested after dark. So.”</p><p>Martin let out a breath. “He sent you to collect this plant, deep in the forest, at night, all by yourself?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Jon said.</p><p>Martin just stared at him. Jon stared back, eyes sharp. “If that’s all—?”</p><p>“No,” Martin said. “Hold on, I’ll come with you.”</p><p>“What? Why?” Jon asked.</p><p>Because Jon was the perfect size to be eaten by whatever predators roamed the woods at night. Or robbed. Or kidnapped—<em> why </em> did Jonah Magnus think it was okay to send Jon into the woods at night, alone? “Because you shouldn’t go by yourself.”</p><p>The sharpness in Jon gradually faded. He looked confused, but he smiled, and it was a look that Martin would literally die for. “That’s not—necessary,” he started to protest.</p><p>Martin stopped him. “I want to come. It’ll be fun.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jon smiled again.</p><p>“Right,” Martin said, “Should we light your lantern and get on with it?”</p><p>“Oh, um—” Jon seemed flustered. “I don’t have a lantern.”</p><p>Martin stared at him for a moment.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know that you assumed I would. I mean, I guess that makes sense, but—”</p><p>“Jonah Magnus sent you out here, to go tramping through the woods, by yourself, at night, and he didn’t even give you a lantern?”</p><p>“I, er—it’s easier to see the starroot without it. As well as motivation to find the starroot because otherwise, I wouldn’t have any light to get back.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Martin muttered, letting this wave of anger wash over him. It was just irresponsible! Jon was small enough to be an easy meal for a wolf or a bear or a mountain lion. But it wouldn’t be helpful or productive to go off on a rant about Jon’s husband. Jon would only roll his eyes and tell Martin that it was just one of Jonah’s quirks. He filed the feelings away, to think about later that night, when he was once again alone. For now, he turned back towards the bakery, which contained the small room where he slept. “Well, we’re getting a lantern.”</p><p>“It’s really okay, Martin. We don’t—You don’t—”</p><p>“Hush,” Martin said, feigning annoyance. Jon stood in the doorway, uncertainly clutching at his cloak while Martin grabbed his lantern. It was easy enough to light, and then they were on their way.</p><p>The walk through the woods was quiet, the only sounds the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. Once, they heard a distant howling and Martin elbowed Jon. “What did I tell you? Wolves!”</p><p>“They’re just feral dogs,” Jon said. “Not wolves.”</p><p>“You’re no fun,” Martin said.</p><p>Jon shrugged. A tension had settled over him as they walked through the woods. He kept his voice low and controlled. He moved nearly soundlessly through the forest, even as Martin cracked and stumbled beside him. It could have been seriousness, devotion to getting the job done. But Martin had seen Jon’s nervousness enough times to recognize it in him now. Jon was afraid of the forest.</p><p>And Jonah had sent him out here. Alone.</p><p>Maybe he didn’t know. Jon didn’t like to have his fear acknowledged, ever. Maybe it was something that embarrassed Jon, something that he didn’t want his husband to know. Maybe Jon wanted to face his fear by dealing with it in the most dangerous way possible.</p><p>“There,” Jon said, breaking Martin out of his thoughts. Jon went to his knees, digging into the ground. What he brought up were just--plants. Martin had to squint to see their luminousness.</p><p>“They don’t seem very—”</p><p>“It’s more noticeable when you don’t have a lantern,” Jon said, placing the roots into the basket and going back from more. “We’re lucky this patch has grown back so much since the last time I harvested these. The next closest patch is a long walk from here.”</p><p>“How often do you…harvest?” Martin asked.</p><p> “One harvest usually lasts Jonah two or three weeks,” Jon said. “They grow fast, so it usually isn’t a problem, but sometimes animals get to them, especially in winter. The roots aren’t very tasty, but they are edible, so when food is scarce, it gets tempting. Once, all three of my usual patches had been rooted through, and I had to wander around for <em> hours </em>to find a new patch.”</p><p>Jon said it like it was a funny memory.</p><p>“Wasn’t it cold?” Martin asked.</p><p>“I guess,” Jon said. “I didn’t really notice at the time, but—now that I think about it, I picked up a terrible fever right after that.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Martin said. Stop. It wasn’t right to judge someone he’d never met. Jon didn’t want him to think badly of his husband. Maybe he’d been horrified at how long Jon had stayed out in the cold. Maybe he’d nursed Jon through his sickness, cursing himself for making Jon think he couldn’t return until he’d found what Jonah needed. Maybe.</p><p>Soon, the basket was filled with the luminous plant, and then they were alone beneath the shadows of the trees and the clear starry sky.</p><p>Jon’s face was illuminated with the plant, and Martin could see the way he looked up at the sky with wonder. It made his heart swell, surprising him that there was room to adore this man even more than he already did.</p><p>“I don’t get many chances to be outside at night,” Jon said. “I always forget how bright the stars are.”</p><p>“They’re beautiful,” Martin said, because he couldn’t say, You’re beautiful.</p><p>Jon shook himself, as if coming out of a trance. “I—we should probably head back,” he said, shifting the basket in his hands.</p><p>Martin’s heart squeezed painfully at the idea of this moment ending. “We could stay a little longer,” Martin said. “Or—we could go visit Tim and Sasha. Get a drink.” What was he doing. Stop.</p><p>But Jon smiled. “I’d love to,” he said. “But I should get these back to Jonah. They don’t keep long after harvest.”</p><p>“Some other time, then?” Martin asked.</p><p>“I’d like that,” Jon said. His voice was quiet, looking down into the basket, but Martin could see the way the corners of his mouth turned up.</p><p>They started back towards town, until they passed a bush that rustled loudly and Jon startled, directly into Martin.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon said, sounding embarrassed. He was so tense, leaning against Martin. He was breathing deeply, evenly. “That was—it was just a rabbit. We startled it.”</p><p>“You sound so sure of that,” Martin said. “Personally, my theory is that it was something with very sharp teeth that definitely wants to eat us.”</p><p>Jon looked up at Martin with a teasing smile. “The things that want to eat us wouldn’t announce their presence like that. We wouldn’t know that they’re there until they’re pouncing on us.”</p><p>“That is not helpful,” Martin laughed.</p><p>Jon shrugged. “The forest is a cruel place.” His voice was still light, but there was something serious behind them. A sharp edge of sadness that tinted his voice.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Martin said, once again trying for levity.</p><p>Jon was silent for a long moment, long enough that Martin was worried he’d said something to upset him. “Would you?” he asked, finally, his voice softer. Jon was looking up at him with those beautiful eyes, and he still hadn’t moved away.</p><p>“Of course I would,” Martin said, keeping his own voice soft. “How could I do anything else?”</p><p>Jon just stared at him for another moment. Martin wanted to kiss him. Martin should not kiss him. He was married.</p><p>But there was adoration in his eyes, a look that was so familiar to Martin. This was the perfect moment—stars overhead, standing so close, Jonah Magnus far, far away.</p><p>“Martin,” Jon said, sounding breathless. “I—”</p><p>His eyes widened suddenly, and he stepped quickly away from Martin. “We should head back,” he said, not even waiting for Martin to acknowledge it before he turned and walked away, surprisingly fast for such a short man. It was all Martin could do to keep up with him.</p><p>They didn’t speak on the walk back, and when they parted ways at Martin’s shop, it was with nothing more than an awkward nod.</p><p>Martin hoped he hadn’t ruined anything. He worried he’d ruined everything.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon twisted the handle of the basket between his hands as he walked back to Jonah’s tower. It was fine. It would be fine. Jonah hadn’t seen anything.</p><p>He almost had, though. He almost had.</p><p>The thought made Jon want to throw up. Almost as much as the sudden realization that he loved Martin, and wasn’t <em> that </em>a travesty? Jonah knew how to read Jon, so well that Jon had spent the first year with him convinced that the man was psychic. (He wasn’t—but not for a lack of trying.)</p><p>Breathe. Breathe. It wasn’t all terrible. Because—Martin would protect him. Jon had suspected—hoped—that was the case, but now Martin had said it out loud. If the worst happened, if Jon lost Jonah’s gift, Martin would protect him. He could be safe, even without Jonah.</p><p>The thought should have been liberating, but mostly Jon found it terrifying. He didn’t <em> want </em>to lose Jonah’s gift. He couldn’t get careless. He needed to breathe. Don’t panic. He could do this. He could do this.</p><p>Jonah was still awake when Jon returned, waiting in his workshop, silently reading.</p><p>Without saying anything, Jon merely set down his basket of plants and turned to leave.</p><p>“Jon,” Jonah said. “A ‘hello’ might be nice.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon said, adding a layer of thinly veiled hostility to his voice. “I didn’t realize I mattered to you at all.”</p><p>“Oh Jon,” Jonah said, setting his book down. Jon felt the weight of Jonah’s eyes fall on him, and he only barely kept himself from shrinking beneath them. “Come here,” Jonah said.</p><p>Once, Jon had found the weight of Jonah’s full attention comforting. Now, it was terrifying. Any misstep on Jon’s part would be noticed, scrutinized. But he was already being scrutinized. It was naive to think otherwise.</p><p>He turned away from Jonah, ignoring the invitation and turning his attention to a row of shiny beakers lined up on a nearby shelf. He tapped them with his fingernails, enjoying the quiet <em>clink</em>, <em>clink</em>, <em>clink</em>. “I thought you were too busy for me,” Jon said into the heavy silence.</p><p>“Is that why you decided to wander around the woods with that baker?” Jonah said.</p><p><em>Clink</em> <em>clink</em>. “I have friends, Jonah. I don’t need <em> you </em>to entertain me.” Jon hoped Jonah couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart. It sounded loud because it was close to Jon, because it was inside of Jon. It was literally sending vibrations straight to Jon’s ears. That was why it sounded so loud. Jonah couldn’t hear it.</p><p>Jonah’s hands appeared on Jon’s shoulders, and Jon couldn’t help his sharp gasp. Turning his back on Jonah was dangerous, but it was a calculated risk. Slowly, Jonah unclasped Jon’s cloak and pulled it from around his shoulders. Jon shivered slightly without it, and when Jonah returned, he wound his arms around Jon’s chest, leaning down to rest his head on top of Jon’s. He pressed his hand to Jon’s heart, which was still pounding. Jon heard his smirk.</p><p>“My dear, have you felt neglected?” Jonah asked.</p><p>Jon didn’t reply, didn’t react to Jonah at all. He kept his eyes fixed on the glasses, the way the light reflected from them. His hand twitched, wanting the reassuring softness of his cloak. Lucky that Jonah had taken it out of reach—he’d picked up on the stim before Jon himself had, and it would have given away Jon’s nervousness.</p><p>As it was, Jonah pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s ear. Jon took a shivering, shaky breath, consciously choosing to lean towards Jonah instead of away. Another kiss went to his cheek, his jaw. Then Jonah  turned Jon in his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips.</p><p>A secret: Jon hated kisses. He hated them because they inevitably led to sex, but he also just hated them in general. He hated the wetness of them, hated being so close to Jonah’s teeth.</p><p>In this, though, Jon could pretend. Jonah kissed him, and Jon deepened it. Jonah pulled Jon closer suddenly, and Jon let out a short gasp of surprise. Jonah slipped his tongue into Jon’s mouth, and Jon didn’t bite him.</p><p>When Jonah picked him up and lowered him to the floor, Jon thought about Martin. It was bad, that he was in love with Martin. It was bad, that he wanted nothing more than to be closer to him. Jonah dug his teeth into Jon’s neck, and Jon made a noise of discomfort that was indistinguishable from a noise of pleasure.</p><p>He could keep this secret. He could. It would be okay.</p><p>Breathe.</p><p>***</p><p>Gradually, Martin became aware that Jon didn’t get nearly enough sleep.</p><p>Some days it was more apparent than others. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t obvious until you knew what to look for, so Martin mostly relied on his behavior. When he was tired, Jon got quiet. When he was exhausted, he started laughing. When he was about to collapse, he got quiet again, and his motor skills disappeared entirely.</p><p>This last, Martin learned from watching Jon numbly bump into the door frame, both of the tables Martin had set up for customers, and finally the front counter before basically collapsing, leaning his whole weight against the counter with his head propped on his hand, watching Martin with half-lidded eyes.</p><p>“Hi there,” Martin said.</p><p>“Hi,” Jon yawned.</p><p>“How are you doing?”</p><p>“’M fine,” Jon said.</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p>Martin rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, scooping Jon into his arms.</p><p>Jon’s eyes snapped to awareness. “Martin, what—?”</p><p>“Hush,” Martin said, carrying Jon to the back room. He was shockingly light. “I’m getting you more sleep.”</p><p>“No, Martin, I can’t—”</p><p>Jon was cut off with a yelp as Martin dropped him onto his bed. Martin slept with a bundle of blankets every night, which padded the fall. Jon tried to stand up, swaying a little as he did so, and Martin pushed him back down. “Jon, you can barely stand, let alone walk. Just rest for a couple of hours, okay? Please.”</p><p>“This is entirely unnecessary,” Jon said, but he did as Martin asked, laying back against his pillows.</p><p>“Thank you,” Martin said, pulling one of the blankets over Jon.</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Jon grumbled, his eyes flickering closed.</p><p>Martin pulled the curtains closed, darkening the room, and went back to tending the shop, keeping an eye on the time for Jon. He desperately wanted Jon to sleep as much as he needed, but Jon would definitely be upset with him if he let him sleep for more than a couple of hours.</p><p>He settled on three—two just didn’t feel like enough—and went in with a cup of tea to help with the drowsiness. Jon was still sleeping like a stone, and Martin felt a deep pang of longing. Jon was so beautiful. Carefully, he set the tea on his bedside table and brushed a few stray strands of hair from Jon’s forehead.</p><p>“I love you,” he said quietly, and it was true. There was a lump in his throat suddenly, and he was blinking back tears. He so badly wanted to hold Jon, tight and close and safe. He wanted to protect him, but—he couldn’t. Jon didn’t want protection.</p><p>It was creepy, watching him sleep. Martin reached out a hand and shook him awake, as gently as he could. “Jon,” he said. “It’s time to wake up.”</p><p>Jon blinked a few times, lazily, then sat bolt upright. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.</p><p>“A few hours,” Martin said. “Three.”</p><p>Jon relaxed. “Oh, good.” He yawned, stretching his arms above him.</p><p>Martin grabbed the cup of tea and handed it to him. “It’ll help you feel more awake,” Martin said.</p><p>“Thank you,” Jon said, taking the mug from Martin’s hand. “And—thank you for letting me use your bed. That was very—you didn’t have to do that.”</p><p>“I really didn’t have a choice,” Martin said. “I couldn’t very well let you pass out in the street, after all.”</p><p>Jon ducked his head, hiding behind the mug.</p><p>Martin’s heart twisted at how adorable Jon was. “Why were you so tired, anyway? Did you not sleep last night?”</p><p>“Not really, no,” Jon replied.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Jon shrugged, picking at his cloak with one hand, no longer looking at Martin. “Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes Jonah works late, and needs me to assist. Sometimes I have really bad nightmares, and I decide I’d rather not sleep. Sometimes it’s other things.” Another shrug. Now he was looking at Martin again, his eyes guarded.</p><p>Martin let the subject drop. “Well, you should probably get on with your day. What are your plans?”</p><p>“Nothing serious,” Jon said lightly. “Actually—Tim and Sasha invited me for a drink tonight. If you want to come…?”</p><p>Martin blinked. “Would that be—I mean—would that be okay?”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>“I don’t—uh—”</p><p>Jon shook his head, climbing out of bed, combing out his long hair with his fingertips. “I’m planning to head over around seven? I know it’s early, but I don’t really like the later crowds.”</p><p>“No, yeah, seven sounds good,” Martin said.</p><p>“Great,” Jon said. “I’ll see you there, then?”</p><p>Martin nodded. “Yeah.” He smiled. “I think you will.”</p><p>***</p><p>“How’s the great Mage Magnus doing these days?” Tim asked.</p><p>Jon was sitting at the bar, turned mostly toward the door, keeping an eye out for Martin. “Don’t call him that,” Jon said absently. “You know he hates it.”</p><p>“Of course,” Tim says. “That’s why we call him that. Seriously, how’s he doing? We hardly see him in town anymore.”</p><p>“Same as ever,” Jon said. He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at Tim. “Anything in particular you’d like to know?”</p><p>“Let’s see…” Tim tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I know! Why is he such a dick?”</p><p>Jon couldn’t help it; he laughed at that. “I think he’s just naturally…like that,” Jon said quietly, holding a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles.</p><p>“No one is born that much of a dick. There had to have been something! A spell gone wrong, perhaps?”</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes. “Sure, maybe.”</p><p>They were quiet for a couple of moments, as Martin continued not to walk through the doors. Sasha came up to the bar, leaning on Jon, her arms reaching over his shoulders like a waterfall. “Still waiting on Martin?” She ruffled Jon’s hair. “You know, Tim and I are placing bets as to when you two will run away together.”</p><p>Jon went stiff at that, looking between Sasha and Tim with wide eyes. “How, uh—How did you—”</p><p>“Please, Jon, it’s fairly obvious from space. Every time you two are together, it’s like a pair of magnets that just can’t help gravitating towards one another.”</p><p>Jon’s mouth went dry. “Is it—Is it actually that obvious?” He asked.</p><p>Sasha rolled her eyes, punching Tim in the arm. “Obvious to us, because we know both of you. To everyone else, you two are just good friends, and--” Sasha made her voice high-pitched and quavery “--isn’t it nice that the town eccentric has so thoroughly welcomed our newest member?”</p><p>“I’m the town eccentric?” Jon asked.</p><p>“Most definitely,” Sasha said. “That’s why we love you.”</p><p>Jon ducked his head, blushing, and Sasha ruffled his hair once more before sitting down on a stool beside him.</p><p>“Sasha!” Jon protested, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it back down. He wasn’t quite finished when Martin came in.</p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” Martin said with a shy smile, sitting down on Jon’s other side. </p><p>“No problem!” Sasha said, before asking Martin how business was going, which led to a lively conversation about fluctuating wheat prices that Jon could hardly follow. He was still blushing, and he could hardly look at Martin. He was just so lovely.</p><p>By accident, Jon met eyes with Tim across the counter. Tim grinned and tilted his eyes toward Martin for a moment before giving Jon a wink. Jon scowled at Tim in response, but if anything Tim’s grin only got wider.</p><p>Jon took a long sip of his drink, and almost choked when he felt the weight of Jonah’s eyes pass over him. It was just a glance, not a summons, and Jonah moved on quickly. But it took a moment for Jon to recover. It was lucky no one had their attention on Jon.</p><p>He turned his attention back to Martin, and something like grief twisted in his chest. It was impossible and unfair, and Jon didn’t know what to do about this longing that grew brighter every day. He wanted to run away with Martin. Martin was kind and gentle and strong. He’d promised to protect Jon, and Jon was certain that Martin would.</p><p>Except.</p><p>Jon would lose this, evenings spent laughing with their friends. He would lose their long conversations in the morning. He would lose everything about himself that made Martin smile in that special soft way, and it wasn’t--he couldn’t--</p><p>Jon realized there were tears in his eyes, and he took another long swig from his drink. He was being ridiculous. Sure, he couldn’t run away with Martin. Sure, his most closely-held fantasies would never come to pass. But there was no reason he couldn’t keep what he had now. He could keep Jonah’s gift <em> and </em>Martin’s friendship. He just needed to keep a tight handle on his feelings, and to make sure Jonah was distracted whenever he spent time with Martin.</p><p>He’d been doing this for years. There was no reason he would fail now.</p><p>***</p><p>A few weeks later, while Jonah was busy having a mirror discussion with one of his academic contacts, Jon took Martin to meet some of his bird friends, bringing several loaves of bed, a blanket for them to sit on, and slices of meat and cheese for sandwiches.</p><p>The birds flew down as soon as they saw Jon, and he clucked at them, nudging them out of the way as he tried to spread the blanket on the ground.</p><p>“There are so many,” Martin said, holding the basket nervously as twenty birds looked at him expectantly.</p><p>“They tell their friends,” Jon said. He sighed as the birds continued to get in the way of his efforts to get the blanket laid out on the grass. “I thought they’d be shy, having a new person around, but I guess they trust me enough not to bring anyone dangerous to see them. And you don’t exactly have a threatening aura.”</p><p>Martin laughed. “Whatever that means.”</p><p>Jon sat back on his haunches. “Here, hand me a hunk of bread.”</p><p>Martin complied and watched with a smile as Jon tossed it away. Most of the birds went after it, crowding around it, desperately trying to get a bite. One bird stayed behind, continuing to watch Jon expectantly as he spread out the blanket.</p><p>“Oh fine,” Jon said, reaching into the basket and tearing off a (much smaller) chunk. He held it out for the bird, and Martin watched, charmed, as the bird took it directly from Jon’s hand.</p><p>“They really like you,” he said as he sat down.</p><p>Jon ducked his head, smiling, and he was beautiful. Martin couldn’t look away, which was a problem because he just knew his eyes were bleeding with sappy emotions. He blushed when Jon looked up again, and met his eyes, and smiled. It was a hesitant smile, uncertain. At any second, Jon would look away, and the moment would be over, and all of a sudden, Martin couldn’t bear that thought. So—</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Martin said.</p><p>Jon’s eyes widened, and he tensed. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and Martin mentally cursed himself. Jon was married. What was Martin doing, offering to kiss him?</p><p>Then Jon let out a deep breath. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and tight.</p><p>It was crazy, but Martin didn’t care. He leaned forward, tilted Jon’s head up and gently pressed his lips to Jon’s. Jon smelled like fresh herbs, and Martin felt his heart yawn wider with affection for this man. He couldn’t help wrapping his arms around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was wonderful.</p><p>Except.</p><p>Jon was—slightly, almost imperceptibly—leaning away from him. Like he was trying to escape.</p><p>Martin pulled away. “Is everything okay?” he asked.</p><p>“Of course,” Jon said too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>Martin looked into Jon’s eyes for a long moment and saw guarded anxiety staring back at him. Jon blinked a lot, his eyes never meeting Martin’s for too long.</p><p>“Jon,” Martin said, running his thumb over Jon’s temple. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”</p><p>The anxiety in Jon’s eyes quickly flamed into something approaching fear. “I don’t—Nothing is bothering me,” he said, his voice passing through desperation and coming out at the beginnings of anger. His voice got louder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Martin, everything is fine. This is—fine.” On the last word, Jon’s voice broke, and he dropped eye contact with Martin completely. Losing his words, he shook his head a few times, then pressed his entire body against Martin, burrowing into him.</p><p>Martin tightened his arms around Jon. “Is it Magnus?” It felt like such a stupid question. Obviously, it was Magnus. Jon was married! And here Martin was, playing the home-wrecker.</p><p>But Jon just shook his head. “No, it’s—Jonah isn’t paying attention.”</p><p>“Oh…kay,” Martin said. “What’s upsetting you right now, then?”</p><p>“Do we really have to talk about it?” Jon said.</p><p>“I mean, we don’t have to, but…maybe we should?” Martin released Jon from his grasp and leaned back. “Unless you just want to—forget this ever happened.” Of course, he shouldn’t have kissed him. It was rude of Martin even to ask. Of course Jon didn’t actually want to be with him. He could only hope that he hadn’t ruined their friendship too terribly.</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “This isn’t—I don’t—” Jon put his hands over his face and breathed deeply. When he took them down, he was frowning, an expression of determination, with that familiar anger bubbling right beneath the surface. “I like being with you,” he said.</p><p>Martin blinked. “As in—”</p><p>“As in, when I’m with you, I feel—I don’t know. Happy? Like I never want to leave. And when I do leave, I still keep thinking about you.”</p><p>Slowly, Martin’s lips spread into a smile. “Jon. Do you have a crush on me?” He was blushing, but that was okay. Jon was blushing too, looking at him with these beautiful, furious eyes, and as Martin smiled at him, they softened into something helpless.</p><p>Jon looked down and swallowed once. “Yes,” he said, meeting Martin’s eyes again.</p><p>So Martin cupped his hand softly on the back of Jon’s head and tilted his head back softly, placing a gentle kiss on him. It was a moment Martin had dreamed of, a moment that he never thought he’d actually get, kissing Jon, knowing that Jon wanted to be with him.</p><p>But Jon’s entire body had gone tense, and he was once again leaning away, ever so slightly. His eyes were closed tightly, brow furrowed as if he was in pain. Martin leaned back from the kiss and looked at Jon, his eyes searching.</p><p>Jon smiled up in him, but there was something tense in it that Martin couldn’t quite identify. At least Jon was a little more relaxed now, but it hardly made Martin feel better. He’d already said he wasn’t worried about Magnus, and he’d gone through significant emotional stress to tell Martin how he felt. What was wrong?</p><p>Jon would react badly to an open-ended question. Martin went for a more direct approach. “Jon,” Martin began, keeping his voice gentle. “Do you not want me to kiss you?”</p><p>There was the tenseness again. It was amazing really, how quickly Jon could wind himself up. “Why would you ask that?”</p><p>It wasn’t an answer, but harping at Jon for it wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Because it feels like you don’t like it.”</p><p>Jon blinked, then looked down. For a long moment, he was quiet. “I’m sorry,” he said.</p><p>“Why are you sorry?” Martin asked, He cupped Jon’s cheek in his hand, tilting his head back up to meet his eyes. There were tears in Jon’s eyes, and Martin wiped one away as it fell onto Jon’s cheek.</p><p>Jon closed his eyes and leaned his head into Martin’s hand. Martin rubbed his thumb softly over Jon’s cheek. “Because I should want to kiss you. But I—It’s. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone. It’s just kind of…disgusting,” Jon finished quickly. “I mean, I don’t think you’re disgusting, and I—I still like you, romantically, I mean, but—” Jon stopped suddenly, looking at Martin for his response, and there was so much wide-eyed honesty in Jon’s eyes that it was almost overwhelming.</p><p>For a few seconds, Martin didn’t say anything, captivated by Jon’s eyes, turning over his words in his head. There was that wave of protectiveness again, and it possessed Martin to wrap his arms around Jon, crushing him against him in a deep hug. After a moment, Jon relaxed into it.</p><p>Martin tilted his head forward, touching his forehead to Jon’s. One of his hands was on the back of Jon’s head, stroking against his scalp. The other wound around Jon’s waist, keeping him close. After a long moment where he just listened to Jon’s breathing slow down, Martin leaned back, keeping the tip of his nose against Jon’s. Then, he quickly shook his head back and forth, rubbing their noses together.</p><p>When he pulled away, Jon raised his hand to his nose, handily covering the smile that had risen to his face. It couldn’t hide the color blossoming in his cheeks.</p><p>“Is that okay?” Martin whispered.</p><p>“It’s…a little silly,” Jon said, but he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice.</p><p>Martin stuck out his tongue at Jon, who returned the favor. God, he was so cute. “I’m serious, though, Jon. Is it okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jon said, blushing. “It’s very…sweet.”</p><p>“Okay,” Martin said, pulling Jon close and repeating the movement. “You know can always tell me these things,” Martin said. “It won’t change how I feel about you.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jon said softly, looking at Martin like he’d just said something miraculous.</p><p>A horrible thought struck Martin. “Does Jonah--?”</p><p>Jon interrupted with a frustrated groan. “I <em> don’t </em>want to talk about Jonah. I’ve already told you, Jonah is fine.”</p><p>Martin felt bad. Jon had made it plenty clear that he didn’t like talking about the details of his relationship with Jonah. Yet Martin kept asking questions about it, trusting baseless rumors above Jon’s own words. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jon said. He paused for a moment, pulling away slightly. “And <em> I’m </em> sorry.”</p><p>“Jon? Why are you sorry?”</p><p>Jon bit his lip. “Because I--I know you want me to leave Jonah. I mean, that’s not a--that’s a fair expectation. But I won’t. I can’t. I probably should have said that, before. And--And I understand if you don’t want to--”</p><p>Jon stopped, looking down at their intertwined fingers. He ran his thumb over Martin’s knuckles.</p><p>After a moment, Martin sighed. “I mean, I can’t say I love this situation.”</p><p>Jon nodded silently, seeming to hunch further inward.</p><p>It was <em> bad </em>, having an affair with a married man. Jon had said that Jonah really loved him, and it would be wrong to pursue a relationship with Jon, knowing that. Anyone would tell Martin that it was wrong.</p><p>But Jon was beautiful and smart, and he didn’t sleep enough, and everyone in town loved him even as he claimed that he didn’t have any friends. And Martin loved him more than he’d ever loved anyone, so much that it threatened to consume him.</p><p>So Martin didn’t tell Jon that this was a bad idea. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jon and pulled him close again, pressing their foreheads together. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.</p><p>They sat there for a long moment, until one of the crows began squawking loudly. Another crow squawked in return, then another, and soon the whole flock was making noise loud enough to wake the dead.</p><p>Jon groaned and pulled away from Martin, then made a strange clucking noise, his tongue in the back of this throat. The birds quieted down immediately, and when Jon looked back at Martin, he was smiling. “These birds need some attention, or they’re going to swarm us.”</p><p>Martin was silent for a moment. “Did you just--talk to the birds?”</p><p>“Yes.” Jon was already digging through the basket. “Here,” he said, handing Martin one of the loaves of bread. “Toss them some chunks, keep them occupied. I’ll make sandwiches.”</p><p>Martin took the bread and turned back towards the birds, wasting no time in tearing off a chunk and throwing it to them. Most of the birds went for it, but a few, blocked out of the crowd, still looked at Martin expectantly. He tore off another chunk and tossed it, then another. The birds went through the entire loaf disturbingly quickly. The birds were still staring at Martin, looking hungry.</p><p>“Is there anything else I can give them?” Martin called over his shoulder.</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “One is all they get. They don’t need any more. It’ll make them sick.”</p><p>One of the birds squawked again, and Martin half-expected a repeat of the noisy chaos. But Jon clucked again, higher-pitched this time, and then the birds took flight. They didn’t go far, most of them taking up perches in a nearby tree.</p><p>“Okay,” Martin said, watching them go. “I thought you were kidding about talking to them, but now I think--” he stopped with a sharp inhale as he turned around and saw Jon.</p><p>He was cutting into a block of cheese, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms were covered in sickly discolouration. </p><p>Jon looked down, and Martin saw him register the bright red bruises that flowed up from his wrists. Without looking at Martin, he set his knife down and pulled his sleeves back into place. Then he picked up the knife again, fixing his attention once again to the block of cheese.</p><p>Martin felt sick. “Jon?”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Jon said, his voice firm. He still wasn’t looking at Martin.</p><p>“Jon, please,” Martin said. There was a sinking feeling in Martin’s chest, like something really bad was about to happen, was happening, had already happened.</p><p>There were dark, discoloured marks on Jon’s arms that he didn’t want Martin to see. He wouldn’t look at Martin, but he was tense, as tense as Martin had ever seen him. He clearly, clearly, wanted Martin to just drop it. If Martin dropped it, Jon would look at him with that relieved smile, and the afternoon would be as perfect as any afternoon with Jon.</p><p>Except—how could Martin just drop it?</p><p>“Jon,” Martin said again, more intently, enough so that Jon actually acknowledged him, looked over, met his eyes. Jon’s eyes were asking him not to press, and that broke Martin’s heart. Was this a violation of trust, or a fulfillment of it? Martin didn’t know. “Jon, please show me.”</p><p>For a moment, Martin thought Jon was going to ignore him, turn his attention elsewhere. But then something inside Jon—collapsed, almost. It was a familiar movement, like when Jon’s frustration would bubble into anger. Except there was no frustration here. Instead, what burned up was the fragile vulnerability in Jon’s eyes.</p><p>Jon rolled up one sleeve, then the other and presented them to Martin. The worst of the bruises were around his wrists, but there were discolored spots traveling all the way up his arms. Jon gave Martin a hard look, and then brought one hand up to the clasp at his throat. “There’s more,” Jon said, pulling his collar down just enough that Martin could see hints of deep reds and purples on Jon’s neck. “If you want to see.”</p><p>Part of Martin did want to see, to know the full extent of the damage, to know exactly what Jonah Magnus has done to this beautiful, perfect man. But Jon was already avoiding Martin’s eyes, his cheeks flushed. His shoulders were up around his neck, and it was obvious that even this little bit of vulnerability was much more than he ever wanted to share.</p><p>“It’s okay, Jon,” Martin said, closing his hands around Jon’s as they began unfastening his cloak. “You don’t need to show me.”</p><p>Jon pulled his hands from Martin’s grip. “Don’t you want to see, though? Don’t you want to see everything I let him do to me?”</p><p>“Jon,” Martin began, but Jon was closing in on himself. His hands were visibly trembling as he wrapped them around his arms, training his gaze blankly on a few birds that had fluttered back to the ground. His breathing was shallow and uneven, each breath coming out shakily.</p><p>“You know it—it isn’t your fault?”</p><p>Jon shook his head. “What isn’t my fault?”</p><p>Martin didn’t know how to answer. “What he’s been doing to you.”</p><p>Jon laughed at that, and it was worse than the anger or the numbness.</p><p>“Jon—”</p><p>“How do you think I ended up married to Jonah?” Jon said, his voice hard. “Do you think he tricked me? Do you think I’m his prisoner?”</p><p>“I—” Yes. “It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“It does, actually, because this—” he held up his bruised wrists— “is what I chose. It’s what I keep choosing.” Jon’s voice broke on the last word, the anger in his eyes quickly cooling into despair. He was curling in on himself, trying to disappear into his cloak.</p><p>Martin scooted closer to him. “It’s okay,” he said softly.</p><p>Jon just shook his head, not looking up from his place within the cloak. Martin picked up a hunk of bread and tore off a few pieces, tossing them one-by-one to the birds that were beginning to gather around them again. He took a piece for himself, and tore one off for Jon as well, which he passed to him, pressing it into his hand.</p><p>Jon stared at the bread for a long moment. Martin realized that he was crying. He’d never seen Jon cry before, not really. Maybe he wasn’t truly crying now because he was so still and silent, and it was only the tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, and his uneven breathing, that betrayed him.</p><p>Martin didn’t say anything. He’d pressed enough. He could wait, wait for Jon to take the lead, to do whatever he wanted. Walk away from him, tell him off some more. He wanted to hug Jon, but he knew such a gesture would be unwelcome. So he just sat, watching Jon stare at a piece of bread while tears streamed down his face.</p><p>After a long moment, Jon looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said, setting his bread down, where it was immediately gobbled up by one of the bolder birds. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but the old tears were quickly replaced with new ones. “I don’t—I don’t know why I’m doing this. You’re just worried about me, and I’m--”</p><p>Jon scooted closer to Martin and leaned against his side. He hid his face in Martin’s shirt, burrowing as close as possible, and Martin couldn’t help but put his arm around him, keeping him secure there. Jon relaxed a bit under the weight, so Martin kept it there.</p><p>“Could you leave him?” Martin asked, keeping his voice gentle.</p><p>“I could,” Jon said. “But…I won’t.”</p><p>“Why?” Martin wished he could pull the question back as soon as it slipped out. Hadn’t he pried enough?</p><p>But Jon didn’t seem bothered by it. He just shrugged. “Some things are worse.”</p><p>“Everyone in town would protect you,” Martin said. “I would protect you.”</p><p>“I know,” Jon whispered. “That isn’t the problem.”</p><p>“Then what—”</p><p>Before Martin could finish the sentence, Jon’s arms were around his neck, his nose pressed against Martin’s cheek. “I love you,” he whispered quickly. He said it like it was an answer, and it only confused Martin further. If Jon wanted to be with Martin, why not leave Jonah? Jon’s eyes were wide and hopeful and sad and terrified.</p><p>Martin couldn't help it. He pulled Jon closer to him, almost onto his lap, crushing him in the tightest hug he can. After a moment, he became aware that Jon was shaking in his arms. His face was pressed into Martin’s chest, and Martin could feel his tears soaking into his shirt, the wetness on the bare skin above his collar.</p><p>Slowly, Martin lowered them to the ground until they were laying together, Jon curled up against Martin’s much larger frame. Martin clutched Jon as tightly as he could, one hand around his waist, the other rubbing soothing motions into his back. In return, Jon clutched at Martin.</p><p>Martin moved his hand to the back of Jon’s head, lightly scritching at his scalp. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.” The words were for himself as well as Jon, and even when Jon fell asleep, Martin kept whispering them.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon woke in the golden-red light of late afternoon, with Martin’s arms around him, and Jonah’s eyes bearing down on him heavily. Oh god. <em> Oh god </em>.</p><p>Jon scrambled away from Martin, who looked up blearily. “Jon, what—”</p><p>“I have to go,” Jon said.His sleeves were still rolled up over his elbows. Would Jonah know what that meant? Maybe. Probably. Jonah’s eyes had never felt like this, so focused on him, scrutinizing every aspect of him. It made him want to curl up and hide.</p><p>“Jon, what’s going on?” Martin blinked a few times, then looked suspiciously over his shoulder. The eyes weren’t focused on him, but he could still feel their presence.</p><p>“I have to go,” Jon repeated. His head was full of static. How could he have been this careless?</p><p>“Why? What’s wrong?” Martin started getting to his feet, his face full of concern. Jon’s heart clenched at that. He couldn’t lose Martin. He couldn’t.</p><p>Jonah was still watching. Jon didn’t know what to say that would satisfy Martin without enraging Jonah even more. So. Jon ran.</p><p>“Wait, Jon—” Martin called after him, but he didn’t chase after him. Good.</p><p>When Jon stopped to breathe, Jonah was still Watching.</p><p>“Why are you going back?” one of the crows asked, alighting on his shoulders. There were three that had followed him, and the other two fluttered along beside him as he walked down the road.</p><p>Jon didn’t answer. Jonah didn’t like him to use the Forest Tongue.</p><p>The birds kept chattering, repeating things that Jon was already far too aware of. Jon tuned them out, and tried as best he could to tune out the weight of Jonah’s gaze. Didn’t he have better things to be doing?</p><p>Jon shouldn’t be heading back to him. What good was he expecting to come from going back to him? He could cut his losses. He could leave.</p><p>Except. Without Jonah’s gift, Jon would never see that look of adoration in Martin’s eyes, that look reserved especially for him. Jon couldn’t give up Martin.</p><p>He’d already lost Martin, though. He was careless. Did he really think Jonah would let him see Martin again, after this? Did he think things would ever go back to the way they were before?</p><p>Jonah’s tower loomed over Jon as he approached the door. He half-expected Jonah to open the door before he even got there, eyes hard and cold, adding to the heavy weight of Watched and Judged. The door stayed solidly closed, though, and when Jon swung it open, the entryway was silent and empty.</p><p>Jon wasn’t sure what to do now. Jonah was still watching him, and usually that meant Jon should go see him as soon as possible. He felt nauseous as he began climbing the stairs, and when he reached Jonah’s workshop, he was nearly faint with apprehension.</p><p>The door was closed, and he knocked quietly. No answer. No cold voice inside telling him to come in.</p><p>Jon swallowed, and continued to his room, half expecting to see Jonah there, waiting for him. The room was empty, though. Silent.</p><p>He laid down on his bed, curled in his cloak, breathing, breathing, breathing. His hand fluttered over the familiar feathered texture, but the softness didn’t do much to soothe his anxiousness.</p><p>Jon had dealt with Jonah’s anger before. Jon knew how to mitigate the damage, how to lessen the number of blows.</p><p>He didn’t know how to deal with this anticipation. Jonah was watching, waiting for—something. Jon wanted it over with, whatever it was, something worse than anything Jon had dealt with before, but still ultimately survivable. Jon had been obedient. Jon had come home.</p><p>Eventually, he fell asleep, still waiting, still being watched. He woke up hours later, still in the darkness, still being watched. A day went by, then another. Jon went to the kitchens for food, and for once the falcons ignored him. He tried knocking again on Jonah’s door. There was still no answer. Only the eyes, bearing down on him, scrutinizing him for every bit of truth.</p><p>Jon had expected that Jonah might lock him up, beat him, starve him. He’d done it before, when their pact was still young. Before that, Jon hadn’t feared Jonah, not really. He could be unpleasant, but he was warm and he was safe, and he had a library full of books, and he’d given Jon the kind of mind that could think about philosophy and literature.</p><p>The first time Jonah had gotten angry with him, Jon hadn’t been prepared. He knew he could leave at any time—what cause could he possibly have for fearing Jonah? Any punishment Jonah inflicted upon him, he would simply fly away.</p><p>Naive. Jonah’s anger was cold and thoughtful and brutal, and it was easy for him to simply lock Jon up, take away the option of escape. Jonah could push him past any boundaries he might have imagined for himself, and Jon couldn’t do anything about it, except lay curled on the floor, hurting and fearing for the moment Jonah would return.</p><p>This was different.</p><p>Every day, the anticipation grew, every day Jon became more certain that Jonah was truly furious with him. This had never happened before. Jon wondered, idly, if Jonah were waiting for his anger to cool before dealing with Jon, but Jon knew well enough by now that Jonah was not the sort of person whose anger controlled him.</p><p>The door was wide open every day, inviting Jon to leave, to evacuate before the storm crashed down on his head.</p><p>Jon stayed, and waited.</p><p>***</p><p>When Jon disappeared, Martin started to worry.</p><p>“It happens sometimes,” Tim said. “He disappears for days, or sometimes weeks. No one sees him anywhere. He always comes back eventually.”</p><p>“He’s especially resistant to doting, for the first few days after he gets back,” Sasha said. “Just so you’re prepared.”</p><p>Martin thinks of the bruises on Jon’s arms, and he feels cold. “Have either of you ever gone to see him at Magnus’s tower?”</p><p>They went quiet. “No one goes up there,” Tim said, after a moment.</p><p>“It isn’t safe,” Sasha added.</p><p>“What, does Magnus kill anyone who gets too close?”</p><p>Neither of them answered, keeping their eyes engaged on their various tasks.</p><p>“You can’t be serious,” Martin said. Magnus hadn’t killed Jon, had he? He couldn’t have. But Jon had looked so scared, in those final moments.</p><p>“There isn’t any evidence,” Tim said. “But there have been a few disappearances.”</p><p>“Dealing with Magnus has never gone well for anyone in this town,” Sasha said.</p><p>“What about Jon?”</p><p>“Exactly,” Sasha said quietly.</p><p>Martin stared at the bartop for a long moment. He’d never been one for dramatic rescues. He was one for waiting, for planning. But now Jon was in trouble, and that was worth the risk, wasn’t it?</p><p>Martin lets out a long sigh. “I’m going up there to see if Jon is alright.”</p><p>They both tried to protest, but Martin cut them off. “I’m <em> going </em>. If I don’t come back—”</p><p>“If you don’t come back, it better be because you and Jon ran off together,” Tim said.</p><p>“Stay safe,” Sasha said, pulling Martin into a hug. Tim joined, and Martin was enveloped between him, two people who had become close friends over the course of the past year. Tears pricked at his eyes, as he thought he might never see them again.</p><p>They broke apart, and Tim pressed a large knife into Martin’s hand. “Fuck ‘em up,” he said.</p><p>“Hopefully I won’t have to,” Martin said. “But—thank you.” He tucked the knife into his belt and then he was on his way. He straightened his shoulders and began walking the long path up to the tower.</p><p>As he walked, he developed a rudimentary plan. He’d knock on the door and ask to see Jon. If he was allowed, he’d look Jon over and try to determine on sight that he was okay. If he wasn’t, well, Martin had his knife. He’d have a bit of the element of surprise as well, since Magnus almost certainly wouldn’t be expecting an attack in his own house.</p><p>But that depended on Jon, didn’t it? If Jon didn’t want to escape with him, Martin was hardly going to force him. And where was the line between abuse and ‘I’m-getting-you-out-of-here-even-if-I-have-to-murder-your-husband’ abuse? If Jon had bruises similar to the ones Martin had already seen, would it be better to let Jon hang on a little longer until Martin could formulate a more foolproof plan?</p><p>Besides which, if Jon was much more battered than that, it wasn’t likely Martin would be allowed to see him. What would Martin do then? Fight his way past whatever defenses Magnus had and somehow find wherever Jon was being kept?</p><p>There were too many variables, but by the time Martin arrived at the tower, he had a decent if-then flowchart in his mind.</p><p>The front door was open.</p><p>This wasn’t a variable he’d prepared for.</p><p>No matter. You could knock on open doors. He did so, adding a little, “Hello?” to it. He could see the tower’s entryway from his place outside the door. He’d expected something lavish, bright marble and lots of candles. But the room was stark and dimly lit. A few rooms branched off the sides, leading to places that Martin couldn’t guess. In one corner was the first step of a long, spiraling staircase that extended upward as far as Martin could see.</p><p>Martin didn’t hear any footsteps. “Hello-o?” He called again. His voice echoed around the small room, and he winced. If anyone was here to hear, they surely would have heard that.</p><p>But there was no sign anyone was coming.</p><p>Martin felt a creeping sense of wrongness settle over his spine. If no one was home, why would the door be open? If someone was here, why weren’t they answering the door?</p><p>Martin stepped inside, keeping the door open behind him. He wished he had a map, or any idea where he might find Jon. Wandering around blindly, he wasn’t likely to accomplish anything other than getting caught trespassing.</p><p>He headed to one of the hallways. It was dark, lined with doors. “Hello?” Martin called once again. “Is anyone there?”</p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>Martin swore as he swivelled around, bringing one hand to his chest, gasping for breath. Jon was quickly walking down the last few stairs, heading towards him. “You scared me!”</p><p>Jon didn’t acknowledge the statement. “You need to leave, now. Why are you here?” Martin opened his mouth to answer, but Jon interrupted. “No, it doesn’t matter. You need to leave.” Jon cast a quick glance over his shoulder, back toward the stairs. “Now.”</p><p>Jon was close enough now to grab his arm, and Martin could hear the near panic in his voice.</p><p>“I came to make sure you were alright,” Martin said.</p><p>“I’m fine, but you need to leave. Martin, you—you’re in danger. Leave town. You need to be as far away as possible before he comes looking for you.”</p><p>“Wait,” Martin said. “<em> I </em> need to be as far away as possible? What about you?”</p><p>“I stay here,” Jon said. “And hope that satisfies him enough to stop him from coming after you.”</p><p>“No!” Martin said. “I am not going to leave you here.”</p><p>“Martin, please,” Jon said. He was crying now, softly. “<em>Please</em>. He’ll kill you.”</p><p>Martin wrapped Jon in a  hug, feeling this man he loved so much trembling against him. “I love you,” he whispered. “Jon, I love you. And I’m not going to just abandon you.”</p><p>“You’re abandoning me either way,” Jon said, his voice breaking. “At least if you leave, there’s a chance you’ll be safe. At least I’ll be able to think of you without--shattering.”</p><p>“What about when I think of you?”</p><p>“You’ll know that I’m fine,” Jon said quietly. “You’ll know that I’m alive.”</p><p>Martin ran a soft hand over Jon’s hair, before pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. “How do you expect me to leave, and not bring my heart with me?”</p><p>“Entertaining as this all is, I believe I should protest.” The new voice was smug and cold, and Jon froze when he heard it.</p><p>“Martin, run,” Jon said, pushing him toward the door.</p><p>There was unmistakable malice in Magnus’s voice. He was tall and thin, dressed in fine scarlet robes, and everything about him exuded power. Coming here had been a mistake, and Martin wanted to grab Jon’s hand and flee. But he couldn’t move.</p><p>“Jon—” Martin started, but then his voice left him as well.</p><p>Magnus smiled and stepped forward. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said.</p><p>Jon stepped in front of Martin, and Martin could see him trembling. “Jonah, you don’t—Let him go. He hasn’t done anything.”</p><p>“Really?” Jonah said, wrapping his arms around Jon. “Because it seems pretty clear to me that he’s done everything in his power to lure my dear husband away from me.”</p><p>“It was me,” Jon said. “Jonah, please, it was my fault.”</p><p>“Oh, darling,” Jonah purred. “I know exactly what you’ve done.” He pulled Jon into a bruising kiss, making eye contact with Martin as he did so. Martin felt fury building in himself, and his heart sped up as he saw the same fury reflected in Magnus’s eyes.</p><p>“Whatever you want,” Jon said, his voice cracking in desperation. “Just please don’t hurt him. Please.”</p><p>“Oh, Jon.” Jonah wiped away a tear on Jon’s cheek with his thumb. His voice was gentle. “You’ll already do whatever I want, won’t you?”</p><p>Jon swallowed back a sob and leaned his cheek into Jonah’s hand, steeling himself against the touch. “Please,” he whispered.</p><p>Jonah softly caressed Jons cheek, then ran his fingers possessively through Jon’s hair. Holding the back of Jon’s head, he pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead.</p><p>Jon swallowed, consciously not shying away.</p><p>Jonah hummed as he pulled away, his hand returning to Jon’s cheek. “It is nice, having you so sweet like this,” he said, and Jon felt a brief flash of hope rise in his chest.</p><p>“Of course, that doesn’t help the terrible taste in my mouth from your disloyalty.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Jon said immediately. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“I believe you, my dear,” Jonah said softly. “But you still need to be punished.” Jonah entwined their fingers, his ring clinking softly against Jon’s. “You haven’t left me much of a choice.”</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “I—I’ll leave.”</p><p>Jonah sighed. “No, you won’t.”</p><p>“I will,” Jon said. “Let him go, and I’ll stay.”</p><p>Jonah smiled and pressed the back of Jon’s hand to his lips. “There are so many things out there that would eat you right up.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” Jon said.</p><p>“We’ll see,” Jonah said, turning from Jon and toward Martin.</p><p>Jon’s mind went blank for a moment, a static of panic drowning out any rational thought other than stophimstophimSTOPHIM. He didn’t know what he was hoping to accomplish when he jumped on Jonah’s back, but he couldn’t just sit and watch.</p><p>However, as was obvious to anyone who ever laid eyes on him, Jon was a small man, slender and delicate. There was nothing powerful about him. It was easy for Jonah to grab his hands and twist around, pulling Jon off of him. He held Jon’s hands over his head, lifting him slightly off the floor. “I had so hoped you would behave.”</p><p>Jon didn’t answer, just gasped for breath, his eyes flickering to Martin.</p><p>“Excuse us,” Jonah said, turning his head slightly toward Martin.</p><p>In that single moment of distraction, Jon kicked one foot out and connected with Jonah’s shin. He cried out, dropping Jon’s hand, and Jon scrambled away from him.</p><p>But Jonah was taller than Jon, and fury blazed in his eyes. He grabbed Jon’s wrist with bruising force, and with his other hand backhanded Jon across the face, a blow that would have sent him sprawling if not for Jonah’s grip on his wrist.</p><p>It wasn’t enough to stop Jon fighting. He screamed as Jonah picked him up, lashing out, connecting as many blows as he could. It wasn’t many—Jonah held his arms pinned to his sides, and he didn’t have the leverage to put any force into it. When Jonah deposited him on the floor of his room, Jon bolted for the door, but Jonah was faster, pulling it closed and locking it.</p><p>Jon banged on the door for what felt like hours, screaming and screaming until those screams turned into sobs. Then he fell to the floor, feeling his heart open up beneath him, dragging him into darkness.</p><p>***</p><p>When Jonah returned, Martin could still hear Jon somewhere upstairs, banging and shouting. His heart ached for Jon, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Jonah was here, smiling that smug smile that made Martin’s blood run cold.</p><p>After a long moment of staring at him, studying him, Jonah spoke. “It’s funny, actually. Such deep feelings for each other, but you don’t actually know anything about Jon. Do you?”</p><p>“I know that he’s far too good for the likes of you,” Martin spat, finding the ability to speak returned to him.</p><p>Jonah’s mouth twisted at that, and for a moment Martin was afraid Jonah was going to strike him. But then he regained his composure, and he laughed. “I have to remind myself that your view of this situation is…fundamentally flawed.”</p><p>“I don’t think it is,” Martin said.</p><p>“Really? Did you know that the only reason Jon exists at all is because of me?”</p><p>Martin couldn’t think of anything to say. “What?”</p><p>“Really, if you think about it, the man you love so much is nothing more than an illusion.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>Jonah smirked. “I’ll enlighten you, since you’re obviously confused.”</p><p>“Of course I’m confused! You’re talking nonsense!”</p><p>Jonah clicked his tongue. “That’ll be enough of that, I think,” and as quickly as it returned, Martin found himself once again unable to speak.</p><p>“I imagine you’re not familiar with sorcerers, are you? I don’t blame you; only a special few are privy to the workings of our society. We are discouraged from traditional marriage, for reasons I’m sure you can guess. Our way of life isn’t particularly attractive to most people, and it helps us to stay elevated from ordinary society. Our secrets remain secret, and all that.</p><p>“Of course, the benefits of having a spouse are hard to ignore. Companionship, for one thing—we are just as vulnerable to loneliness as anyone else. Besides that, it’s nice to have someone to serve as a sort of assistant, whenever you need. Not to mention the more…base desires that a spouse can satisfy.</p><p>“Because of that, it’s common—encouraged, even—for sorcerers to take spouses of a sort from among the forest creatures. It’s a partnership, a trade of services. We get a spouse, and they get a human body. A human life.”</p><p>Jonah laughed at the expression on Martin’s face. “I see you’ve started to put it together. You aren’t as stupid as you look. Although, you did come up here, which even I didn’t expect.</p><p>“Finding Jon was happenstance, for both of us. I know Jon has led you to believe that I’m nothing but a villain in his story, but he would have died without me. He was well on his way when I found him, just a little scrap of blood and torn feathers. He’s never managed to speak about it coherently, but I’ve managed to put together that his family group were all torn apart by something with teeth. He was desperate not to be so small, so vulnerable.”</p><p>Martin’s heart twisted for Jon.</p><p>“Of course, I made him quite small and vulnerable by human standards, but I’m sure you understand that urge, don’t you? In any case, it’s nothing compared to his true form.”</p><p>Martin was going to kill Jonah Magnus.</p><p>Magnus was looking at his nails, apparently bored with the situation. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “Oh, it’s tempting. It’s very tempting. You did your best to steal what’s rightfully mine.</p><p>“But that would be wasteful,” Jonah said, his voice suddenly lighter. “And it wouldn’t prove anything truly useful. You see, Jon has this fascinating idea that he worries at constantly. He thinks we’re playing a game, a delicate balancing act where he can’t push me to take away his human form, and I can’t push him to give it up and simply fly away.</p><p>“It’s an illusion, though. Jon will never leave me. You saw it for yourself, how he chose me over you. I can give him every reason to leave, every key to encourage his escape, and he’ll never take it.”</p><p>Jonah patted Martin on the cheek. “You’ll be far more valuable to me in proving that than you ever would if you were dead.”</p><p>As suddenly as Martin lost his ability to move, as suddenly as he lost the ability to speak, the world suddenly grew around Martin, Magnus looming to an impossible height over his head.</p><p>And then everything went dark.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon laid on the floor of the dark room, wishing he was dead.</p><p>It would be easier, wouldn’t it, if he were still bird-formed? He tried to remember how grief felt back then, but the memories are hazy. He’d survived, though, hadn’t he? So it must have been easier. If he were a bird, he would have to worry about sharp claws and snapping teeth, and there would be less room to think about how much he’d ruined.</p><p>He should leave.</p><p>But Jon didn’t have the energy, not now. Every few hours, a falcon came up to his room with a tray of food. Jon ignored them, and he ignored the food. He didn’t cry. Instead, he just thought about how stupid he’d been.</p><p>Jon lost track of how many meals had passed by the time Jonah came for him. He recognized the cadence of his steps at the door, but he didn’t move or even react when he heard that slick voice say, “Jon.”</p><p>Somewhere beneath the surface level of blank numbness, Jon hoped Jonah would just go away. Of course, he wasn’t so lucky.</p><p>Jonah knelt next to Jon and pulled him into his arms, and Jon didn’t have the energy to resist. And—it was nice, to be held, wasn’t it? Jonah’s arms were familiar and warm. They’d done this before, years ago, when being human had still fit so awkwardly and Jon was still reeling with loss.</p><p>Jon had learned so early that Jonah was safety, and he hated himself for leaning into Jonah’s comfort now.</p><p>He let out a sob, and Jonah held him tighter. “Shh, darling. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Jonah’s voice was gentle, and he’d killed Martin.</p><p>“I hate you,” Jon managed. He wanted Jonah to push him away, to hurt him. He didn’t want softness, not from him.</p><p>But Jonah just kept holding him, rocking him. “I’m sorry for all this unpleasantness,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s brought you so much pain.”</p><p>“You <em>did</em> this,” Jon managed. He was trembling now, with anger and exhaustion and so much grief that it threatened to swallow him.</p><p>Jon’s head was tucked under Jonah’s chin, so he felt Jonah shake his head. “Oh, Jon,” he sighed. “Don’t you see that this was all your own doing?”</p><p>Jon swallowed, his throat a painful lump. It was true, wasn’t it? Jon had allowed himself to become friends with Martin, had allowed himself to imagine that any closeness between them might be possible. He’d let Martin kiss him, and he’d told Martin things he hadn’t even admitted to himself. He should have left Jonah before Martin was in danger, or refused to pursue romance with Martin. Even now, Martin was a gaping wound, and Jon <em> still </em>couldn’t bring himself to give up Jonah’s gift.</p><p>“I have something for you,” Jonah said. Jon didn’t reply, but a moment later a falcon came in, carrying a medium-size cage. Inside of it was a fox with snap-sharp teeth and darting eyes that immediately fixated on Jon. It barked, and Jon flinched away from the murderous creature.</p><p>“I—You—” Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beast, scared that if he did it would somehow escape its cage and tear into him. Its fur was the color of Martin’s hair, and Jon was certain Jonah had done it on purpose. “I hate you,” Jon said, his voice breaking.</p><p>“Is that any way to respond to a gift?”</p><p>Jon didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, merely staring at the fox. It hadn’t taken its eyes from him the whole time it had been in here. Humans were predators to foxes, but Jon was clearly prey. The fox barked again, and Jon once again flinched.</p><p>Jonah took Jon’s chin in his hand and made him look at him. “I think this will be good for you. Help you get over your silly fears.”</p><p>“They aren’t—” But Jon didn’t have time to finish asking, because Jonah pulled him forward for a deep kiss, his tongue swirling in Jon’s mouth. Jon tried to jerk away, but Jonah held him fast. The fox was growling now. Predators everywhere, and Jon was so small.</p><p>There were tears in his eyes when Jonah finally pulled away, and he blinked them away, determined not to let Jonah see.</p><p>“It’s good form to respond to a gift with a thank you,” Jonah prompted.</p><p>Jon was trembling everywhere, fuck, he was so alone and so scared.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, his eyes going back to the fox, which was looking at Jonah now as it growled. Jon took a deep breath. At least they had a common enemy.</p><p>Jonah left, finally, and Jon was alone with the fox. Jon didn’t want to talk to it. It would be rude not to talk to it, but how much did Jon care about rudeness?</p><p>It had been taken from its home, and now it was here. Fox or not, it was clearly scared. He could offer some bit of comfort if he talked to it.</p><p>Jon stood and went to his bed, pulling his cloak around his shoulders, and running both hands along the soft feathers. He returned to the fox’s cage, sitting a good distance away. “Hello,” he said, slipping into the Forest Tongue.</p><p>The fox just looked at him and whined, tilting its head.</p><p>Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “Are—do you know the Forest Tongue?”</p><p>Again, no response.</p><p>Well, it wasn’t that hard to imagine Jonah buying the fox from some trader, rather than catching it himself. The fact that it didn’t seem to understand any part of the Forest Tongue suggested that it had grown up among humans. Its teeth were still sharp, but it wasn’t the kind of hardened forest predator Jon so deeply feared. There was still malice in its eyes.</p><p>“Well, it seems I can’t talk to you,” Jon said, still in the Forest Tongue. He stood up and returned to his bed. Whatever game Jonah was playing, Jon wasn’t going to engage with it.</p><p>***</p><p>It wasn’t until Martin saw Jon that he realized what a cruelty Magnus had served them. He wasn’t expecting to see Jon ever again, and he couldn’t contain his excitement. Jon looked terrible, and it twisted in Martin’s heart, but he was here.</p><p>And he looked at Martin like he was a monster.</p><p>There was more fear in him than when he looked at Jonah. That look was a practiced wariness. Jon was afraid of Jonah, but used to him. The fear in Jon’s eyes when he looked at Martin was a sharp thing, near panic. Jon watched him like he was something dangerous, like he would ever want to hurt Jon.</p><p>It hurt.</p><p>Following conversations was hard, but Martin tried for Jon. When Jon sat down to talk to him, Martin was prepared to hold on to his words, keep them twisted into language. Martin wondered if there was any way he could get a message to Jon.</p><p>But what came out of Jon’s mouth wasn’t a human language. It was nicer, almost musical, but Martin couldn’t understand any of it. He whined, trying so desperately. He needed to understand Jon. He needed Jon to understand him.</p><p>But Jon gave up almost immediately, and settled himself on the other side of the room, wrapped in his cloak. He shook, and Martin could tell—from his scent?—that he was crying.</p><p>Martin wanted to hold him, to cuddle him, to be there for him. Jon thought he was dead, but he was right here! Martin let out a little yip, of sadness and frustration, and Jon flinched at the noise, looking quickly at Martin. There was the panic again, and Martin willed himself to be quiet, unobtrusive.</p><p>If he couldn’t help Jon, he at least wouldn’t make things worse.</p><p>***</p><p>Jonah gave Jon a week to mourn. A week to decide not to leave.</p><p>When the falcon told Jon he was wanted in Jonah’s workshop, Jon thought about ignoring the summons. The loss of Martin still hurt all over. He was far too fragile to deal with Jonah.</p><p>All the more reason not to resist. Jonah could be gentle, when he wasn’t angry.</p><p>Jon stood and walked out of the room, not looking at the fox, even when it whined as he passed its cage. He let out a long breath outside of Jonah’s door, blinking back tears that had sprung to his eyes, unbidden. He felt Jonah’s eyes on him, which only made the tears worse. Damn it.</p><p>Jon knocked on the door, and entered. His eyes were wet, and he was blinking too much. He hoped Jonah would have the grace not to mention it.</p><p>No such luck. Jonah immediately swept Jon into his arms, a perfect imitation of concern. He tilted Jon’s chin up, looking into his eyes. He thumbed away a tear that had fallen to Jon’s cheek. “Darling,” he said, and his voice was soft. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Jon jerked away from Jonah’s grasp, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Nothing,” he spat. He would not collapse in front of Jonah. Not now. Not again.</p><p>But Jonah didn’t back off. “Jon. If something is bothering you, you should talk about it.” He was smiling now. “You know I’m here for you.”</p><p>Had Jon ever believed that? He could remember the early days after Jonah had given him his gift, when everything felt too big and new and terrifying, and Jon had only been able to see teeth and blood when he closed his eyes. He’d trusted Jonah then, accepted every bit of comfort he offered.</p><p>Even then, he’d known, hadn’t he? He’d been afraid, not just of this new life that he didn’t understand, but also afraid of Jonah himself. Because Jonah was also a creature with teeth.</p><p>Jon swallowed whatever emotion he felt, allowing himself to go blank. “Did you need something?” he asked.</p><p>Jonah frowned and stepped forward, and it was everything Jon could do not to stumble backwards, away from him. Surely Jonah wouldn’t ask—that of him? Not now. Surely.</p><p>Jonah noticed the flicker in his eyes, and smiled. He reached forward and took Jon’s wrist, gently bringing it to his mouth. He pressed his lips gently against the pulse point, and Jon shivered. Sharp teeth so close to vulnerable flesh.</p><p>Jon was too stiff, he knew he was too stiff. He needed to relax, to act nonchalant.</p><p>Jonah pressed another kiss to Jon’s palm, keeping his eyes locked on Jon’s. Jon was trembling now. He couldn’t, not now. He’d fall apart. “Jonah—” He cut off with a gasp as Jonah pulled him forward. He dug his fingers into Jon’s hair and pulled, tilting Jon’s chin back.</p><p>Jonah pressed another kiss against the pulse point on Jon’s neck. Then he growled, pushing his face against Jon’s neck and inhaling deeply. “You’re all mine,” he whispered.</p><p>Jon swallowed thickly, hoping that Jonah didn’t want an answer. He couldn’t manage one. He still couldn’t quite manage to unfreeze.</p><p>After a moment, Jonah released him and stepped back. Jon let out a shaky breath.</p><p>“I need some things from town,” Jonah said. “I made you a list,” he said, turning to his desk and handing Jon a short scrap of paper.</p><p>Town. Jon could do that. Maybe. His eyes scanned the list, and he nodded. “Alright,” he said.</p><p>Jonah pressed one more kiss against Jon’s forehead. “Don’t be long, love.”</p><p>***</p><p>Jon stayed put together remarkably well throughout the trip. He kept his mind focused on his tasks, on shopping. He didn’t let himself look at Martin’s home, keeping his eyes trained on the cracks in the ground. Jonah needed a few items from the library, some herbs from the apothecary, and some ink. Nothing too complicated. Nothing that required Jon to talk to anyone he knew.</p><p>And then Sasha caught him. “Jon!” she called, from outside the door of the inn. She was emptying out a dustbin, and Jon was too close to pretend she’d mistaken him for someone else.</p><p>He paused, pasting a smile on his face as he approached. “Hello,” he said, keeping one hand firmly in the feathers of his cloak. He felt so dangerously close to breaking, but it wouldn’t do for Sasha to see. Breathe in. Breathe out.</p><p>Sasha was frowning as he approached. “How are you, Jon? Are you alright?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jon swallowed. “Of course.” It came out more hostile than he intended it. He just wanted her to stop asking questions. He needed her to stop asking questions.</p><p>“Oh. Good,” Sasha seemed a bit taken aback. “It’s just that it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.”</p><p>Jon shrugged, not trusting himself to answer.</p><p>“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. I really need to ask—do you know where Martin is? The last time we saw him, he was heading up to the tower to challenge Magnus. We’d hoped you two had just run off together, but--” Sasha bit her lip. “Well, here you are.”</p><p>Something in Jon’s face must have given something away, because Sasha’s mouth opened, and her eyes filled with grief.</p><p>“What happened?” she asked.</p><p>“I—he—” Jon didn’t know what to say. He was rapidly losing his hold on his composure. “He—” Jon’s voice broke.</p><p>“Oh god,” Sasha said. “Jon, I am so sorry.” She pulled him into a hug, and Jon went. She smelled like dust and fermenting beer, and Jon felt himself breaking as he buried his face in her shoulder.</p><p>“We should have done more to stop him,” Sasha said. “But he was so determined.”</p><p>Jon shook his head. It wasn’t her fault. It was his.</p><p>They were quiet for a long moment, Sasha just holding Jon, rubbing small circles into his back as he hiccuped into her shirt.</p><p>Finally, she pulled back, keeping hold of his shoulders. “Jon, are you safe?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are you safe?” she repeated. “You—” her eyes flicked down for a brief moment before meeting his eyes again, and Jon realized she was looking at the remains of the bruise on his cheek. “We’ll help you, if you need it.”</p><p>Jon shook his head. “I don’t need help.”</p><p>“God, you’re so stubborn,” Sasha said. “You know you should leave him, don’t you?”</p><p>Did he know that? “Sasha, I can’t—I--” He’d given up so much for Jonah’s Gift. Martin had died because Jon selfishly wanted to hold onto it. Did that mean he should give it up, or hold to it even tighter?</p><p>“I know,” Sasha said, squeezing his shoulders. She was smiling, but in the sad way. “But—You should. You don’t need him. You’re strong and brave, and you deserve a hell of a lot better.”</p><p>She was wrong. Jon wasn’t strong, and he certainly wasn’t brave.</p><p>Jon swallowed, stepping away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said, before dropping his gaze and leaving.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon laid on his bed and pulled his cloak around him, curling up and making himself as small as possible. He didn’t think of Martin. Jonah could come up at any moment to bother him, and he didn’t want to fall apart in front of him. Not again.</p><p>He wiped away unwanted tears and focused on his breathing. It was hard, with how much he was trembling. His breath came out in shaky gasps, and he couldn’t control it. He squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t fall apart. Don’t.</p><p>He needed to leave. He needed to leave. Why wasn’t he leaving? Jonah had killed Martin. How could he stay after that? He closed his eyes tightly, and there were snapping teeth and sharp cries of pain all around him. He was so small, and it was chaos.</p><p>He heard a soft whine and opened his eyes. The fox was asleep in its cage, but its paws kicked out in its sleep. It whimpered again. Nightmare. What did foxes have nightmares about, Jon wondered.</p><p>People, of course, Jon thought. Hunt-maddened dogs. Traps, cages, men like Jonah Magnus.</p><p>The fox let out a soft yip of distress, and Jon felt himself soften.</p><p>He slid off the bed and scooted closer to the cage. The latch was right there. Jon looked at the fox for a long moment. “If you bite me, I’m going to be very upset,” he said.</p><p>The fox whined again, and Jon sighed.</p><p>Before he could think better of it, he undid the latch and let the cage door swing open. He let out a long breath, trying to quiet the hammering in his heart. The fox didn’t move, didn’t suddenly leap up and attack him. Trembling, he reached out a hand and settled it between the fox’s shoulders. Its fur was soft.</p><p>Then it startled awake, and Jon jerked his hand away.</p><p>It looked at him, and at the open cage door. Jon swallowed. Was it going to attack him? But it simply stayed where it was, not making any noise, not moving.</p><p>Slowly, Jon extended his hand again, to where the fox could lean forward and sniff at him. That was what you were supposed to do with unfamiliar dogs, right? Tim had tried to teach him once, with a little terrier a customer had brought in. Jon had extended his hand, but the dog had lunged for him and Jon had screamed and fallen back against the bar, knocking over three barstools in the process.</p><p>The fox didn’t lunge for him. It looked directly at him and very slowly extended its muzzle towards his hand. It didn’t sniff. Instead, it pressed its nose directly into the back of his hand. It looked at him, keeping their eyes locked as it very deliberately rubbed its nose back and forth over his knuckles.</p><p>Jon’s stomach flipped, thinking of Martin. He pulled his hand away, wiping away tears that had sprang unbidden from his eyes.</p><p>Slowly, the fox stood, stepping carefully out of the cage. It sat down again next to Jon, looking up at him with eyes that seemed to be waiting for something.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon said. “You just—reminded me of someone.”</p><p>The fox barked, and Jon flinched at the noise.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon said again. He reached out his hand again.</p><p>This time, the fox ducked its head into his palm, presenting him with the soft fur between its ears.</p><p>“Huh,” Jon said, smiling slightly. He curled his fingers into the fox’s soft fur.</p><p>Then the fox jumped up, placing its front paws on Jon’s chest. Jon yelped and fell backwards. The fox stood over him, looking down into his face. Jon’s heart raced as he prepared for the fox to dig its teeth into his skin.</p><p>Instead, it gently pressed its own nose against Jon’s, then turned its head back and forth, rubbing their noses together. Then it backed away, whining softly.</p><p>Jon’s heart stuttered in his chest as he sat up. The fox’s eyes were locked on Jon’s, and it was crouched low, watching him intently</p><p>“Are you—” Jon stopped, blinking away tears. This was ridiculous. “Martin?”</p><p>The fox barked, and Jon’s heart leaped painfully in his chest.</p><p>“No,” Jon said. “You can’t—” Jon stopped, biting down on his fist, grounding himself. “If you’re Martin, do that again.”</p><p>The fox’s nose was wet against Jon’s, and Jon’s breath hitched as joy and anger and despair all collided. Jon wrapped his arms around the fox and fell limply onto his side, burying his face in the fox’s soft fur. Martin’s cold nose was pressed into Jon’s forehead, and nothing else mattered but the single wonderful fact that Martin was here.</p><p>***</p><p>Jon woke with Martin’s fur tickling his nose, and the weight of Jonah’s eyes on him. His husband was sitting on the bed, looking down at him with a soft smile on his face. Jon sat up quickly, keeping Martin held tightly against his chest.</p><p>Martin yawned, and Jon did his best not to flinch away from the sharpness of his teeth. It was Martin. Martin wouldn’t hurt him.</p><p>“Sleeping on the floor can’t be comfortable,” Jonah said.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Jon said, not meeting Jonah’s eyes. He couldn’t keep the hostility out of his voice.</p><p>“Even so,” Jonah said. “Why don’t you come up here?” He patted a place beside him.</p><p>It was safer with both of them far out his reach. “I’m fine here,” Jon said, shifting Martin in his arms.</p><p>“Now Jon, there’s no call for that. It seems you’ve realized the kindness I’ve extended you here. I could have easily killed him, you know that. Instead, here he is, perfectly safe. I’m even allowing you to keep him close.”</p><p>Jon swallowed. This wasn’t a kindness. Jonah did nothing out of kindness. But—but Martin was here, and that was worth everything.</p><p>“Why—Why are you letting me—?” Jon clutched Martin closer, as if Jonah would change his mind suddenly, take him away.</p><p>“Why shouldn’t I? You’ve proven that you truly belong to me. Should I feel threatened by that little creature?”</p><p>“But—” It didn’t make sense. Jonah shouldn’t be letting Jon spend any time with Martin. He shouldn’t have even let Jon find out about Martin in the first place. Jon had access to Jonah’s full library—he could figure out a counter-spell, break the curse, return Martin to his true form. Jon didn’t know any magic, so it would take a long time, but he could do it.</p><p>Jonah leaned down and planted a kiss on Jon’s forehead. Martin growled, and Jonah looked down at him with a cold, hard smile. “None of that, now.” He ruffled the fur between Martin’s ears, and Jon felt a sudden bolt of fear shoot through his stomach. Martin was so small, and there was nothing Jon could do to keep Jonah away from him.</p><p>And that’s when it clicked into place.</p><p>“Thank you,” Jon said, putting as much emotion into the words as he could muster. He wanted to spit in Jonah’s face. He wanted to rage at him, but—he needed to pretend. He could pretend a little longer.</p><p>“Anything for my darling,” Jonah said, running a possessive hand through Jon’s hair and down his spine before finally-finally-- sweeping out of the room.</p><p>Jon slowly laid back down, staring at the ceiling, still clutching Martin tightly in his arms. It was a trap. Jonah puts Martin into Jon’s care, expecting that Jon will devote himself to finding a way to break the curse. Jon, untrained and unmentored, against the magic of a powerful sorcerer. An impossible task, or at least a very, very difficult one.</p><p>And in the meantime? Jonah had the best leverage he could ask for. How could Jon step out of line, knowing that anything he did could lead to Martin being hurt—or worse?</p><p>“Fuck,” Jon said, burying his face in Martin’s fur. Even this curse he’d chosen for Martin was a deliberate choice, to keep Jon from choosing the logical escape. The snapping teeth of this nightmare form haunted Jon’s nightmares, and being this close to them was only possible because it was Martin, and because Jon was big.</p><p>He could take Martin to the forest and let him escape alone.</p><p>Except Martin wasn’t a real fox, and he didn’t speak the Forest Tongue, and there were hunters, and there was every chance Jonah would respond to such a move by sending his own dogs to tear Martin apart. And even if Martin didn’t die, it would still hurt him. He wouldn’t understand. As it was now, Jon wouldn’t be able to explain to him why he was choosing Jonah, again.</p><p>Why <em> was </em> he choosing Jonah?</p><p>The door was open. He could walk out, take Martin, let go of Jonah’s gift.</p><p>And be small and helpless against claws and teeth. And Martin <em> was </em> claws and teeth, now.</p><p>Martin whined softly, and Jon realized he was squeezing him quite tightly. “Sorry,” he said, releasing his grip. Martin jumped from his arms and settled at his side, resting his head on Jon’s lap.</p><p>Jon looked down at him and ran a hand over his soft fur. “You can understand me, right?”</p><p>Jon was fairly certain Martin nodded, but it was hard to be sure. Human gestures didn’t suit animals very well.</p><p>“Blink once for yes, twice for no?”</p><p>Blink. Blink blink.</p><p>Jon smiled. “Okay, uh—god.” He let out a long sigh. “We need to get out of here, right?”</p><p>Blink.</p><p>“Right. The thing is—if we leave, I’m going to stop being a person. I’m going to be a—very small bird. Understand?”</p><p>Blink.</p><p>“Will you—eat me, when that happens?”</p><p>Martin just stared at him, lowering his ears and letting out a soft, yipping bark. He was the picture of offense, and Jon could help but laugh, looking at him. “Right, sorry for asking.”</p><p>Martin pressed his nose to Jon’s cheek, and Jon’s eyes filled with tears. Oh, god. He needed to take the best chance they had. He needed to, for Martin’s sake. And—and for his own sake.</p><p>Jonah’s eyes had left him for now, full of toying with him for the time being. Good. If all went well, Jonah wouldn’t learn of Jon’s decision until he and Martin were far away.</p><p>Jon stood, briefly considering packing a basket of supplies. But that would be absurd—bringing a basket of food into the forest would only attract scavengers. Did Jon remember how to find food in the forest? The memories were vague and blurred, but they were there. If nothing else, surely the crows would help them. They were friends. Jon could count on them.</p><p>Jon spared a brief thought for Tim and Sasha. They would help, if Jon asked for it, even if they didn’t recognize him. But staying near town was a bad idea—better to travel far, away from Jonah’s eyes.</p><p>None of the doors were locked. They never were, and Jon didn’t hurry down the stairs. His steps faltered a bit as he passed Jonah’s study, but there was no noise from inside. Would this be the last time, walking past that door and praying to remain unnoticed?</p><p>There were a few falcons in the entryway, but they kept away when Martin growled at them.</p><p>And then—freedom. Or something close to it, at least.</p><p>Jon did his best to remain calm, keeping his thoughts placid and disinterested as he walked the path to the forest. Hurrying, panicking, ripping through the forest to freedom would only draw Jonah’s attention towards them.</p><p>Jon desperately wanted to drop Jonah’s gift before entering the forbidding darkness of the forest. They’d be able to move faster, then. And—and it would be better, to embrace that vulnerability where it was still relatively safe.  </p><p>Would Martin attack him on sight?</p><p>Jon didn’t think about it.</p><p>Jon felt Jonah’s attention settle lazily over him, and it was all he could do to keep his path steady. He clutched Martin tighter beneath his cloak, running his fingers over his soft fur.</p><p>Then Jonah’s attention sharpened, and Jon ran.</p><p>It was a reaction of instinct, hurtling towards safety without thought. Jonah’s eyes were crashing down on him, taking his attention, making him stumble. He tripped on a stray rock and went tumbling, tucking Martin against his chest as he rolled, crying out when his knee hit hard against the ground.</p><p>Martin whined, and Jon was back on his feet, daring to look back towards the tower. No signs of pursuit yet, but it wouldn’t be long.</p><p>***</p><p>Martin could run faster than Jon. He could feel it, thrumming through his legs and his heart. He jumped from Jon’s arms and landed on his feet, yipping at Jon’s heels to keep him going. The noise from the tower was distracting Jon, but that was okay.</p><p>They reached the forest, and kept going, and kept going, until Jon stopped, breathing heavily. Martin whined at his feet, looking at the sky above, where falcons were beginning to congregate. They couldn’t stay here long.</p><p>Jon sat down, and took Martin in his arms, burying his face in Martin’s fur. He breathed deeply, and Martin breathed with him.</p><p>“I love you,” Jon said, and Martin wished desperately that he could say it back. He settled for rubbing his nose against Jon’s exposed neck. Jon jerked away, laughing. “Martin, that’s cold!”</p><p>One more breath, and then Jon was gone.</p><p>***</p><p>Giving up Jonah’s gift was easy.</p><p>Jon expected to feel small and powerless and afraid, but all he felt was warmth. He opened his eyes, and he was surrounded by red fur. Behind him, a wet nose pressed against his head, and he laughed and turned. Martin was—Martin.</p><p>“Hi,” Jon said, and the human words sound strange in his throat, and he is suddenly conscious that only Jonah had ever seen him like this.</p><p>But Martin was tilting his head and smiling, and those were teeth, but there was no malice in his eyes. “Hello yourself.”</p><p>***</p><p>There is more to say. Thanks and apologies, in voices that clearly mark each other as something Other than the forest.</p><p>Jon settles down in Martin’s fur when they sleep, and the warmth soothes him when he wakes from his nightmares. For the first time Jon can remember, the nightmares aren’t about teeth and claws and blood. These nightmares are about Jonah.</p><p>But they are only nightmares. Jon and Martin know that Jonah is looking for them—seldom a day passes that they don’t see a falcon wheeling in the sky above them—but the forest is dark and deep, and there are lots of ginger-colored foxes and lots of little black birds.</p><p>It’s strange, Jon thinks. He’s always had the option to leave, but now that he’s taken it, the thought of returning seems like the worst fate imaginable.</p><p>Weeks turn to months, and human thoughts begin to fade. Life is simple, in the forest. It is fresh spring water and ripe berries and sharp teeth and blood. Except now Martin has sharp teeth. Except now there is no blood.</p><p>Jon preens Martin’s fur and scritches his beak between Martin’s ears. Martin envelopes Jon in fluff and warmth. In the calm quiet of the forest, Jon sings for Martin, and his voice is even lovelier than it was before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for reading &lt;333</p><p>I've been working on this fic since July, when I heard the song "Little Black Bird" by Charming Disaster and thought, 'This is a jonmartin song!' I thought this was going to be a simple, 2000-word-max songfic. I really did. Instead, I wrote 20k words that took me to the deepest depths of my emotions. I also made a playlist that consists entirely of songs whose titles contain the word 'bird': https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1XoYY3Q1oj1qRPtjNFZdPX?si=aA00zau4TpulKzXQv3TooQ</p><p>Special thanks to @GloriousGarbage, who listened to me talk about this fic for three months straight, celebrated with me whenever I had a breakthrough character moment, read my lazy first draft and told me it was really good, and then read the shiny, polished version and told me, "this story is kick ass." She just published her own Magnus Archives fic about Jon running afoul of a Vast Leitner and shrinking to the size of a mouse, and you should all check it out!</p><p>Finally, some stories that heavily influenced this fic, that you will almost definitely like if you liked this fic:<br/>Beastly Behavior by Prim_the_Amazing<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147068/chapters/50328743</p><p>What Belongs to the Sea by TwoDrunkenCelestials and WhyNotFly<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075827/chapters/47546884</p><p>There Are Monsters In These Woods by DoilySpider<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23220637/chapters/55593337</p><p>@suttttton on tumblr! come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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